Crimes
by pheromones
Summary: For Emily Valentine, a move from Boston to Death City isn't a far enough distance to outrun the ghosts of her past. And when she sparks the keen interest of one Death the Kid, the struggles of an unaverage fifteen year old axe meister get just a little bit harder. But again, those ghosts she left behind have a funny way of catching up to her. Kid/OC.
1. My Old Friend

_"Hello darkness, my old friend  
>I've come to talk with you again<br>Because a vision softly creeping  
>Left its seeds while I was sleeping<br>And the vision that was planted in my brain  
>Still remains<br>Within the sound of silence"_

_-_** Simon and Garfunkle, 'The Sound of Silence'**

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

Maybe this whole thing is a dream?

I'll wake up any minute now in my bed and feel my body cringe with a lack of caffeine. I'll go to the kitchen to refuel and Kenji will be there eating an apple while flipping through his new issue of Weapon's Monthly. Everything is good in the world and we have no worries besides some upcoming test on Soul Responses.

I close my eyes once again.

I relax.

I open my eyes again after a quickly passing moment.

Yet again, I'm unsuccessful. I'm still on this goddamn train. Everything looks the same outside the window. Instead of evergreen trees and melting snow, there's sand. Sand like the quicksand I can feel engulfing my dignity and being. The sand is welcoming me to America's wasteland and congratulating me on screwing up what kind of person I thought I was.

"Emily, are you even listening to me?" A hand shakes my shoulder. I turn my head away from the window to look at my partner and cousin, Kenji. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he frowns. "You didn't hear a single word I said."

In my defense, I don't really listen to anyone anymore.

"Sorry, I kinda drifted off," I run my hand through my hair; I need to wash it. "What were you saying?"

Kenji's brows come together and deep lines run across his forehead, "Emily you have got to let this go..."

He is not seeing the big picture.

I should really cut him some slack though. Anyone else would hate me more than I hate myself. I don't blame any of my friends for not wanting to talk to me anymore. I'm now a taboo back home, something parents and teachers will use as a cautionary tale for their kids.

They didn't even know the half of it.

"Kenji you know I can't do that." I glance down at the stained red carpet that is sticking to my boots. Obviously one too many kids have dropped their lollipops enough for this floor never to be fully clean again.

"Em, it wasn't your fault," He says, trying to console me. "At least we got the opportunity to start over."

But when you think you love someone, you're easily deceived.

This is why I, Emily Valentine, and my cousin, Kenji, took two planes and a train from Boston to Death City.

I lived in Boston all my life. I even denied numerous requests from the school known as Shibusen DWMA to transfer from Sin Technical School to attend their better school way out in Nevada because of my love for the city. I'm lucky they still held up their offer to me.

"How can I start over Kenji?" My fingernails dig into my knees. The way I start spitting the words out through my clenched teeth scares me a little. "Don't act like you understand. This isn't some broken bone that's going to heal itself. You're not a fucking moron so don't say moronic stuff like that as if it's going to go on your tombstone."

A mother is scolding her child in the booth next to us.

My blood is bubbling underneath my skin.

I could use some coffee, some alcohol, some drugs, anything.

Kenji folds his arms at his chest. "I'm sorry."

I feel worse. Kenji was only trying to help. I can tell by the way his pupils grow behind his glasses that I've struck him a bit too harshly.

"No, you're right. I'm the one who should be sorry. You were only trying to make me feel better." My tongue twists the studs in my snakebite holes, the taste of metal seeping into my mouth. "I shouldn't have jumped on you like that."

"I forgive you. Just don't get too down on yourself. We're a team and we still have a job to do." Kenji sits back up in his seat from the slouching position he had gradually fallen into.

_But at what cost?_

I look out the window again. I can see the outline of a giant, clustered city on the horizon. This is a fairly nice change after staring at nothing but dirt and tumble weeds for the past several hours.

"Death City is just off in the distance. Why don't we get our stuff together?" I pull myself out of my seat and start reaching for the overhead shelf to grab all of my carry-on bags. I bet Kenji's still trying to figure out why I brought so much stuff on board with me. I still don't know why either.

"Emily?"

"What?"

I turn over my shoulder, surprised to see a small smile on his face. "You're gonna be okay."

At least Kenji will always be here with me.

* * *

><p>"I wonder where Nosferatu lives…"<p>

"Looks more like Sleepy Hollow on LSD to me…"

This place is even spookier than any of the pictures I've seen. The streets are paved with cobblestone, much like the old colonial parts of Boston that kills your car tires if you drive over them. However, the buildings have Victorian structures and the Grim reaper plastered on almost every street corner I've seen so far. There are no signs of homeless people or Red Sox fanatics littering the streets (I actually _miss _them). And unlike most cities, most of the stores I've seen are apparently family owned businesses. No Walmarts, no Walgreens, no Burger Kings, no Dairy Queens. I haven't even seen a Dunkin Donuts yet. That's _going_ to be a problem for a native New England girl.

I feel Kenji grabbing at the sleeve of my jacket. "Before you start looking for any coffee shops we should at least go to our new apartment. And don't even think of trying to lose me in a crowd of people to get yourself a latte like you did that time. Remember, we were in Seattle to execute that Soul Sucker guy?"

It's hard not get the vibe from Kenji that he feels like he's _babysitting _me. "That guy was a total nutcase! Would you take any guy with a vacuum cleaner on his back seriously? Not only did he believe he was a Ghostbuster, but he claimed he stole Kurt Cobain's soul. I needed to be caffeinated for that piece of work." God, whatever happened to those types of ridiculous missions?

We're about two blocks away from where our new home will be, down in the Shibusen DWMA district. After living in a chic flat in Boston for so long, the idea of living in a school sponsored apartment complex makes me want to yack. They're almost always in terrible condition with cracks in the walls, spider webs in the corners, and unidentifiable stains on the walls like Motel 8's on the highway. Also I don't think I can fit all my stuff in a puny little two bedroom, one bath apartment.

Kenji's head is turning in every possible direction, tourist style, his eyes wide as they look around. It's only been a two months since the end of Asura and most of the city is already repaired and lovely again; save for a couple of still boarded up buildings with crumbled walls and depressing tilts to their structure. Hard to believe a bunch of kids brought down a Kishin god. Even if they were Shibusen students and Lord Death's son, it's difficult to picture even the most skilled meister and weapon team coming out alive. The news literally blew up that day. Helicopters couldn't get close enough to the moving Death City. News reporters around the world loosened their neck ties and their blouses because it was just _so much breaking news_!

And while the rest of the world celebrated for the remainder of that week, I became the center of a conspiracy so deep not even Asura and Nixon's offspring would be controversial enough.

As for those seven "wonder kids," what I've got clinging to my back might prove too much even for _them_.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

Nothing seems to surprise me these days.

When you're the son of Lord Death you expect to have all kinds of oddities thrown in your path. Overtime, all the strange things become trivial and expected, turning the simple pleasures of life into a luxury.

Going back to a time before the unleashing of insanity makes me feel like I have nothing to do with myself. Two months is an awful long time to wait for an average adolescent experience.

Even having the time to make a long fuss about symmetry seems strange with all the "royal treatment" I've received.

Liz obviously doesn't feel the same way about how refreshing it feels to voice my opinions. This is probably the reason why her nose is scrunched up into the cross look in her eyes, still passionately _scolding _me, while we make our way back to the mansion after an afternoon of shopping.

"I still can't _believe_ you would make such a fuss in public! Why did I even allow you to come to the mall with me and Patti in the first place if it meant getting kicked out of the goddamn store?"

I can't say I'm too shocked Liz appears less than happy with me. At least Patti seems to be pleased with managing to sneak a lollipop into her pocket before we were escorted from the premises.

"That store was all out of order! Any place worth the public's business would be _organized_ with none of those crooked displays or clothing racks randomly lying about."

I just manage to avoid being whacked over the head by one of Liz's flailing shopping bags. "You rearranged the _entire_ store! You're lucky that the manager recognized us and let us pay for our things before kicking us out!"

My hands shove themselves into the pockets of my pants as we turn the corner onto one of the main streets. "I'm sorry Liz. I'll be sure to send a fruit basket and my deepest apologies."

I'm suddenly yanked into her face by the front of my blazer. "Oh no! Don't you dare think I'm even near finished with you! What about that tunic! Huh? What was so hideous about it that made it unable to be worth buying!"

She really should be more observant by now. From behind my back Patti is giggling. "The stitching was uneven, which you _failed_ to notice."

"The stitching? The stitching! That tunic was handmade in France with some of the nicest Chinese silk in the world you twit!"

Liz's face is starting to turn red, so I doubt she is going to let this fiasco go anytime soon.

"Oooooh! Sis, Kid, look! New neighbors! New neighbors!" Patti's high-pitched, hyeana voice wails mercilessly in my ear, interrupting Liz's complaints, and sending her own bags whipping wildly near my head with her excitement.

Sure enough, there's a moving truck being unloaded on the next block in front of the school sponsored apartments where Maka and Soul live.

"Patti, we're not even close to home yet. They're not technically neighbors..." Liz says, letting out the breath of air she probably saving to yell at me.

Finally, this is what surprises me. Something so simple and ordinary is enough to jog my interest, and that alone is strange.

A girl, about my age or older with deep, red hair, is talking to one of the moving men. And by the way she's standing and waving her hands about, it appears to be an argument.

"Girls, did my father mention to either of you that DWMA would be receiving new students?"

Liz stops beside me, leaning forward at the hip to get a better look. "No, I don't think so."

"Her hair is so red... it's almost redder than Maka'a papa's!"

I squint to make out the finer details about this girl. She's wearing a black bomber jacket, adorned with various patches on the back and front. Underneath that is a cropped white top, exposing a stripe of pale midriff, paired with jean shorts and suspenders over black tights. Without the high heeled ankle boots I'd put her at about my height or shorter.

"God, those are some cute shoes. I could've bought a pair like those but _someone_ had to go arrange the store to his liking and get us kicked out!"

Despite Liz's scolding directly in my ear, I'm not absorbing anything she's trying to force onto me. Every bit of my attention is donated to this strange girl whose temper is clearly growing.

As the girl grows wilder in her hand movements, to the point that it appears likely she might strangle the bloated man, a teenage boy with brown hair and thick rimmed glasses rushes over, apprehending her with a hand on each shoulder.

"Ooo, I wonder who hot stuff is over there? I hope that aint' his girlfriend." Typical for Liz to have her anger moved aside for the sake of a good looking young man.

Good question, and one that easily solved with basic soul perception.

"Unless they're supporters of incest, then no." Just one look at the souls of those two was enough to ease both of our fears. "They're cousins. The girl is the meister and the boy is the weapon. I suppose my father did rally up two new students."

Yet there's something I can't put my finger on about that girl's soul. It's one in conflict with itself, which is troubling enough, but the innards of the soul itself are hazy, like smudged glass.

As the bespectacled boy drags his wailing partner back into the building, yelling out obscenities and all different insults about the moving man's mother, Liz yanks at my shoulder.

"I wouldn't relax and let your guard down if Kid. I'm not nearly done with you!"

Like I said, it takes a lot to surprise me these days.

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

I wonder if I can sue a company on the basis of _bullshit_? No matter how you look at this little scenario, it always screams "son of a bitch" at you, especially if you're the one hauling heavy boxes up two flights of stairs in heels. Not that heels bother me, but when you're particularly unbalanced and really have no clue where your footing is, you have to fear breaking an ankle or twisting your neck while falling down a bunch of stairs.

At least those good for nothing moving men brought all the furniture up to the new apartment before splitting. Since when do movers have half days? I don't care if you've booked some cheap bar for the night, finish your goddamn job! If Kenji hadn't restrained me I would've ripped those guys a new asshole.

"Please let this be the last step, please let this be the last step, please!" My foot reaches level flooring and I let out a sigh of relief. Now, the only things standing in the way of me and a good nap in my own bed are fifty odd feet of hallway and a few less heavy boxes.

Only the view out of the corner of my eye can assure me that I'm not going to walk into a wall or something like that. But with my kind of luck I doubt I'm going to avoid falling face first and getting rained upon by Kenji's collection of graphic novels.

Thank you lord, I'm almost there. Now please, guide me these last few footsteps without inciden- "AH SHIT!"

The box of manga goes flying as my chest hits the floor, knocking the wind out of my lungs on impact. And of course, to add insult to injury right on cue, a fucking copy of Evangelion Volume Six knocks my head into next year.

"Ow… ow… dammit owwwww..." I rub the back of my head to soothe the swelling bump where a hundred pages just tried to crack open my skull. If it wasn't for all this hair I have I could have serious brain damage or be bleeding out of my ears or my skull could even ha-

"Hey, are you okay?"

Gritting my teeth against the pain, I manage to look up from the floor and into a pair of jade eyes glued to a gentle face, which is plastered onto a pig-tailed head. Since when did _she_ get here?

The girl gives me a hand, helping me back onto my feet. "Yeah, I'm fine. I guess I tripped or lost my footing." I say, brushing myself off of any carpet dirt and humiliation.

"Are you a new student? These _are _the school apartments…"

I take a quick look at the mess I just made. Wonderful, just fucking _wonderful. _"Me and my partner just transferred from Boston. The moving men were too lazy to finish bringing things up to our new place so we have to finish the job."

"Oh, let me help you with this…" She drops to the ground to gather up all the graphic novels. Nice girl, certainly nicer than I expected anyone here to be.

"Thanks," I reply, getting down to my knees to start putting things back into the box. "My name's Emily Valentine by the way."

The blonde girl hands me a stack of books to put in the box. "I'm Maka Albarn, nice to meet you!"

Maka Albarn. _The_ Maka Albarn. _**The**_ Maka Albarn who defeated the keshin Asura.

The dumbstruck look on my face is _somewhat_ of a dead giveaway I suppose. "Yeah, I'm that Maka Albarn…"

Well, what am I supposed to do? Thank you for saving humanity and letting me live out the rest of my life? Okay, cool.

"Hey Maka, what's with all the swearing?" A boy with white hair and blood colored eyes leans out of the apartment next door with knit brows and crossed arms.

"Soul, can you go down to the front yard and bring up some boxes? We have new neighbors." Maka points her thumb at me.

Who I guess is the famous Soul Eater Evans huffs and shrugs his way out the threshold of the door, "too cool for school" attitude and all. "Whatever..." He stops as he passes me by, leaning down to put his hand out in front of my face. "Names' Soul Eater Evans, Soul's cool."

"Emily Valentine." I reach out my hand for a shake, simultaneously tossing a few issues of some mecha manga I have yet to flip through back into the box.

"Emily, please tell me you didn't destroy my issues of Akira! Those were special limited editions that cost me a fortune on eBay!"

Oh, nice of you to show up Kenji! Sure as hell took you a _long_ _ass time_ to bring a small box of my DVDs upstairs. Did a girl give you her number? "Aren't you a nice cousin, making your first impression on our new neighbors by calling me out?" Typical fucking Kenji. "This is Maka Albarn and Soul Eater Evans, _they_ go to Shibusen DWMA." I manage to pull out my best shit-eating grin.

But faster than you can say "sweet American Apparel hoodie hipster" Kenji's shoving a box of his shit in my arms to go shake hands with our famous new neighbors. Too bad he forgot to bring his autograph book. What a suck-up.

Well I guess _I'm _the one in charge of bringing this box of crap into our new apartment. For a school sponsored living space, it's nicer than I expected, thank God. Everything is furnished, and as far as I can tell, clean. Though it's nothing compared to our old Boston flat, it has multiple rooms and wi-fi which is enough to satisfy.

After dropping Kenji's box of manga by his door, I wander into my own room. Except for a bed, a dresser, and a desk, the room is really nothing but boxes. I've literally moved every material aspect of my entire life across the country.

I lie down on the mattress, my muscles aching from _multiple_ trips up _multiple_ flights of stairs for the past hour. It doesn't help I haven't exactly been physical for a month either.

Speaking of that, I can finally be myself again, or at least what's left of me. Nobody is fussing over my mental health anymore. Nobody is asking me invasive psychological questions. Nobody is whispering to each other while I'm present. And the voice is quite. Thank _God_ the voice is quite. As much as I refused being prescribed anti-depressants, they're doing their job. Medicine may not be able to cure my current cynical outlook on everything, but at least I can try to live normally now.

But normal will never be average. If there's one sad thing this entire mess has taught me it's that I'm capable of the evil those I strive to defeat make use of. It makes me sick to my stomach. All I see myself as is a liability to everyone. What others see as "paranoia" I see as a "reality check".

The mind and the soul are a fragile couple. When one is sick, the other is too. After all, Romeo and Juliet killed themselves for a reason. They can't live without each other. For that entire month I was asked, "What do you want?" and though the question seems broad enough to answer, I'm still not sure how to respond to it anymore.

I wanted protect the innocent, the good, the loved.

And out of that want I allowed myself to be led down the wrong path. I was a hero who fell from grace and into garbage. That's right, garbage.

They're still out there and I know it. They're biding their time. He's never going to stop until he gets what he wants. I was so sure that he wanted me. What he wanted was my services, not my heart. How could I have been so childish and _naïve_?

I roll over to the edge of the mattress and start digging into one of the opened boxes for any useless crap I can busy myself with. I should stop thinking, because thinking reminds me that I still live in this ruined reality. There's a theory out there about multiple paradox universes, where things can be more or less the same with a few changes or complete balls to the walls insanity. I bet there's a world out there where I kicked ass so well that I didn't even have to wash any of the blood out of my hair. Maybe there's another world where I'm already lying in some upholstered specially made coffin with kids peeing on my grave marker. I hope there's a world where I'm everything everyone wanted me to be.

Sadly, that's not this world.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

I am having post episode 10 American Horror Story depression so I think it's a good time for me to put this baby out there.

This is going to be a bunch of chapters, and I've been working out the kinks for this story since my sophomore year.

I'm pretty proud of how I see this going. I mean, original characters are always tricky to deal with, since there's the whole 'Sue' thing you need to avoid. I think the way to avoid developing a Sue is by making the character as real as possible. If Ariel and Lisbeth Salander decided to bear children together you'd get Emily Valentine.

Here's the playlist for this chapter:

**The Sound of Silence by Simon & Garfunkle**

**The Times They Are A'Changin' by Bob Dylan**

**Sour Cherry by The Kills**

**Bull In the Heather by Sonic Youth**

Kid is fun to write, especially in first person because I can imagine with his OCD that his stream of consciousness would be pretty hectic.

Review and favorite! Tell me what you guys think!

- Nicole


	2. Lucky to Have Met You

"_One baby to another says  
>I'm lucky to have met you<br>I don't care what you think  
>Unless it is about me<br>It is now my duty to completely drain you  
>I travel through a tube<br>And end up in your infection"_

**- Nirvana, 'Drain You'**

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

I'm not big on tea. It's not that I think its toxic waste or anything like that. But growing up in the north east definitely sways your taste-buds to acquire a preference to coffee. You can blame The Boston Tea Party for making sure there are at least three coffee joints on each city block.

But I can't help the pang of disappointment when Maka places a cup of tea in front of me. My nerves are whining for a latte rather than a simple cup of brown, flavored, hot water. I haven't had a decent dose of caffeine since our second plane landed in northern Nevada, a good ten hours ago.

"Thanks," I mutter before going for the milk and Sweet and Low Maka offers me.

As I fumble with the sugar packet, Maka sits herself next to me on the couch. She folds her hands on her lap like some pristine Victorian lady. "So, how do you like Death City so far?"

"It sadly lacks the homeless bums and drunk sports fans back in Boston. Other than that it's nice."

"I've been to Boston a few times. Nice city unless you're driving," Soul calls from the kitchen as he keeps a watchful eye on the swordfish that's on the stove. Kenji is up and about helping him prepare food while Maka plays hostess for me. By the way the boys keep punching each other's shoulders and snickering, I'd say they've already hit it off. I envy boys sometimes for being able to make friends so easily. A handshake is all it takes to become 'bros' with them. Girls are pickier, full of jealousy, and are too easily offended if I dare say. God, I must be the worst girl ever.

"Soul, just go back to stirring the rice…"

"Hey, you're the cook!"

"I've already prepared everything! Just make sure the food doesn't burn or anything!" Maka turns back to her cup of tea, a word sounding too much like 'lazy' coming out from under her breath.

Following her lead, I take a quick sip of the tea as not to seem rude in the position of as a guest. It's not bad, but I'm still going to end up trying to find the nearest coffee shop.

"Thanks for inviting us for dinner by the way. That was pretty nice of you…"

Maka turns back to me with full jade eyes and a warm smile. "It's the least we could do. I make dinner for friends all the time, so it's a good excuse to introduce you to new people before your first day at the DWMA. I have a feeling we're all going to get along great!"

Her sense of optimism is mind boggling. She's almost naïve in a way, though that's surely impossible at her status. I never really cared for having any specific state of mind. I would say though that as of lately, that glass has been a half empty vial of poison for me.

Maka takes a quick look at the clock hanging on the wall across from us. "Knowing how Black Star and Patti are with food, I'd say everyone else will be here within a couple of seconds,"

It's less than a minute till six o'clock.

"It's a shame I can't introduce you to my friend Chrona yet. She's off with my teacher Marie for the weekend. She's shy but I think she'll warm up to you and Kenji nicely."

I'd tell Maka that being social right now is making my stomach churn, but I don't want to ruin her fantasy with the reality that I just want to be a hermit.

"MAKA! SOUL! DAMMIT OPEN UP I'M STARVING!" A series of loud bangs come from the door, underlined by the pitiful sound of whining from whoever decided to screech outside.

"Ugh, I'll get the door. _And hopefully he won't put a hole through it this time_…"

Soul and Kenji leave their posts in the kitchen to go to the door. Me? No thanks, I'd rather sit here and rot while sipping some decent tea.

"Honestly Black Star, can't you just knock normally like any other person?"

"The great me would never dream about being compared to anyone other than God himself Maka!"

"At the least you could've knocked eight times."

"Dude, I think you put a dent in the door. _Again_."

I never would've guessed one of the seven "wonder kids" is nothing more than a hungry and egotistical home wrecker. Of course, no one would ever guess I like to listen to symphony music and cry during movies. Life's full of glorious surprises.

"Black Star, please, Soul and Maka invited other guests…"

I don't care to listen much to Kenji's introductions. I'll receive them soon enough. Besides, it's not like I care or anything.

"Bask in the glory of the almighty Black Star; defeater of the keshin Asura and the man who shall surpass God!"

Black Star actually does look like he some kind of drugged out cartoon character or weirdo. A shock of electric blue hair and too many muscles for someone of his age and height definitely shouts "_I'm bat shit crazy!_"

No that _I _should talk.

"Black Star, get off the coffee table! And you spilled Emily's tea too!"

At least I don't have to drink anymore tea sludge for now.

"Name's Black Star! Not that you probably aren't aware of my glory by now!" I guess I was totally right on the assumption that someone was both full of them self and a bull in a china shop.

Instead of using force to silence annoyances like such, I prefer to take more _painful_ approaches to introducing myself.

"If stepping on pieces of furniture qualifies as the power of a god, everyone's screwed."

Punching that doofus in the face wouldn't get me a better look of bewilderment.

"Please excuse Black Star's manners… he gets too ahead of himself sometimes…" A tall Japanese girl with long, ponytailed black hair grabs Black Star by the arm, pulling him down from his little "castle in the sky".

"Emily, this is Tsubaki Nakatsukasa and obviously Black Star. Don't be surprised if Maka decides to beat him with a rolling pin…" Soul says, slouching and shoving his hands in his pockets like he's trying really to disappear from the current situation. I know how you feel man. The look of fury on Maka's face would make me want to hide far away as well.

"Really Tsubaki, I know a great dog trainer if you ever want to get him under control." Another girl, tall and blonde, looks at her manicured finger nails.

"Dogs go WOOF, sis!" says the smaller, bustier blonde at her side.

I watch Maka beat Black Star over the head with a book about as thick as a dictionary out of the corner of my eye. "This is Liz and Patti Thompson. Guys, this is Emily Valentine."

Almost before Soul can finish speaking, Patti's at my side, _poking my cheek_. "Gee, your hair is so reeeeeeeeeed! Look how red her hair is sis!"

If it weren't for the boobs I'd probably mistake Patti for an abnormally tall five-year old.

Liz gives a nervous cough into her wrist. "Okay Patti... Sorry about that, she's hungry." Liz manages to maneuver her sister by the shoulders and into the kitchen, her younger sister giggling the whole way.

Meet and greets over. Thank Go-

"Excuse me…"

A hand comes to rest in front of my face, connected to the sleeve of a finely tailored black jacket, attached to a body I _really should have recognized_.

"I'm Death the Kid. It's a pleasure."

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

Of course, I wouldn't be able to put the pieces together. When Maka said she was having additional guests over for dinner, I didn't think to question the status of her "new neighbors". Damn me for not grasping such a simple conclusion.

She's even more _interesting_, and I mean that in the nicest way possible, to look at up close. Besides the full head of lipstick colored locks, her eyes are a shiny copper color, like new pennies. If it wasn't for the two metal rings pierced through her bottom lip, her appearance could be ruled as relatively safe. Yet, she has even more metal in her ears as far as I can tell from the tips poking out from under the blanket of her hair.

There is seemingly nothing too unbalanced to be found about her appearance, aside from the choppy length of her bangs being maybe fractions of an inch off what I like. Perhaps I could go as far as to count the number of hairs she has in each eyebrow.

"Emily Valentine. Axe meister." Her grip is firm despite the warm and soft feeling of her hands. "I should've expected to run into Lord Death's son sooner or later."

I look down briefly at our entwined hands, noticing the variety of rings around her fingers, which I assume to be designer by the different designs and embedded jewels. She must come from a family with some kind of money or other wealthy input. She doesn't seem like the sort of person to brag about riches however.

"I'm surprised my father didn't mention any new students to me…but your presence is greeted none the less," I say before releasing my grip.

Emily cocks an eyebrow, which irks me because of its disruption to her overall symmetrical features. "Yeah, well we're here sort of on short notice I guess." I distinguish her tone of voice clearly for the first time. It's a mixed palette of apathy, taunting, sarcasm, and boredom. As bad as that may sound, in a way it works for her, like a complimenting color.

I look around, noticing everyone else seems to have taken their seats around the dining room table. Ugh, did Maka have to use differently colored napkins this time?

"We should probably go take a seat. I don't want to look rude."

Emily gets up from the couch, fixes her leather bomber jacket into place, and walks away.

I feel like my heart was just ground into the pavement by her heel.

* * *

><p>"Black Star! Can you ever resist the urge to eat like a pig?"<p>

Black Star is sitting across the table, mouth stuffed full of a mix of sword fish and diced tomatoes, trying to tell some awful story about his last mission no one has been listening to for the past five minutes. It's rather pathetic _and_ disgusting.

Maka looks like she's already had enough of his show off-y antics in the presence of guests. Unless Black Star wants to be skewered by the meat fork, he should go on continuing to make an ass of himself.

"Black Star, please, slow down. You don't want to choke on anything again do you?"

Instead of torturing myself by continuing to look at that horror show, I glance at Emily, seated to my left. She seems unaffected by all the chaos going around by the way she's picking at her food. It's a shame she doesn't group everything on her plate evenly like I do. That way I could have a reason to bring up conversation.

"How about instead of scolding Black Star on his gross bad table manners, we try to make Kenji and Emily welcome." Liz swirls the glass of Coke in her hand, trying not to focus on Patti's own child like eating habits. She gives Kenji a sparkling look next to her. I should've expected this kind of "flirtatious" behavior from her if her compliments from earlier today were any indication.

I turn back to Emily. She's pierced a piece of swordfish with her fork. She has very nice, full eyelashes. I wonder if she has an even number of lashes on each eyelid.

"But Black Star eats gross!"

"All boys do Maka."

"Not Kid! You for that matter should also take a lesson from him and eat like a civilized person."

"Don't you two get me involved!" I send a scathing look towards the couple across from me. The two of them know I would rather _not_ be put in the middle of another one of their ridiculous arguments.

Tsubaki thankfully breaks the tension by speaking up. "So, Emily, Kenji, how long have the two of you been partners?"

Kenji opens his mouth, completely ready to speak, but is surprisingly cut off by the sound of Emily's informative tone of voice. "We're actually cousins, so we've worked together ever since he could transform and I could handle him." She sets her fork on the side of her plate. Her finely outlined eyes are half lidded as she leans forward in her seat. "Family relations tend to be more compatible when it comes to the meister-weapon relationship."

"Kinda like Patti and I," Liz says, the flirtatious look in her eyes returning. "We're both weapons but we can both use each other almost as well as Kid does."

I both see and feel Emily sneaking a glance at me from the corner of her eye. "Why do you use two weapons? It's usually not a popular option because it's twice as much work. Not to mention, it's not necessary for…" She pauses, the look on her face indicating that she's trying to pick the correct phrasing for the rest of her sentence. "…An _individual_ in _your_ position, to harvest souls."

"Emily, play nice…"

She frowns at Kenji. It appear that the two act more like a pair of siblings than simply cousins, Kenji being the older brother and Emily his younger sister.

My heart flutters for some unknown reason as I try to speak, trying to come off as slick as possible. "Well, I decided to create Death Scythes on my own. As for why I use Patti and Liz, it's the way I find most aesthetically pleasing…"

There's a brief silence and Emily tilts her head, as if she didn't hear what I said.

"Aesthetically pleasing?"

"Symmetry is the only true beauty our world can offer. As a god of death, it is my duty to bring balance to the life that surrounds us, therefore giving it beauty."

Liz and Patti exchange nervous looks. That's the issue. Everyone regards it as a problem I have. What I find physically beautiful is qualifications of mental illness to everyone else! People see things with their eyes closed! The power of a Grim reaper is to attain a perfect balance between life and death, the ultimate goal of our kind!

One of Emily's eyebrows rises at my response, ruining her symmetrical face yet _again_.

"Hey! Put your eyebrow down! It's spoiling your facial symmetry!"

This time, I'm given a look of confusion and furrowed brows. And the way she points the tongs of her fork at me makes me feel…unsafe.

"Do you have OCD or something?"

"No! I merely appreciate the factual beauty that Grim reapers worship! Absolute balance is the goal of existence!"

There is a long and uncomfortable pause.

Then, an airy laugh.

Emily's lips part and a light snicker like the wind in your ears passes through them. She's actually laughing at me?

"And three white stripes on one side of your head are 'balanced' too, huh?"

My breath freezes in my throat. My head starts to spin and my brain feels like its short circuiting. Garbage, trash, filth, I am, nothing, worth less, me, dirtyyyyyyyy, hi de ous, I, h a ir, _ e_.

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

Of all the insane things I've seen, Kid's reaction to his own foolish dye job takes the cake. I didn't just strike a nerve, oh no, I've just stepped on a fucking landmine.

Kid slithers down to the floor from his seat, babbling on about "trash", "garbage", "worthless" like a spliced up audio tape or a robot melting down.

"Oh God not again!" Liz gets out of her chair and walks over to where Kid is now rocking back and forth in a fetal position.

Is that blood running down his nose?

"Is…is he having a stroke?" Maybe it has nothing to do with his hair. Maybe I just caused his blood pressure to sky rocket or caused a brain aneurism. Great, more shit I'm responsible for causing.

Strangely, everyone else looks like this is just a mild nuisance. Patti's even _laughing_ and hitting her meister on the back! "Hehehe! Kid's having a stoke!"

Soul rolls his eyes. "Kid'll be fine. He does that whenever anyone brings up his hair." He gets up to put his clean plate in the sink.

I look down the table at Kenji, who is absolutely pleased with me because he's buried his face in his hands and the tips of his ears have turned _completely _scarlet. He's either horribly humiliated or seething with blood rage.

Liz and Patty begin carting Kid off to the living room sofa. His nose is now stuffed with tissues.

The relatively casual and calm atmosphere surrounding the situation grinds at me. Like seriously, what gives? "Can…can anyone tell me what his deal is?"

Tsubaki, who hasn't left her seat since the spectacle began, leans over across the table, her voice barely a whisper. "Kid-kun has an obsession with symmetry. Everything has to be symmetrical or else he goes into a frenzy and tries to fix it. It's about the worse thing possible to bring up his hair…they're the Lines of Sanzu that mark a Shinigami…he's extremely sensitive about them."

Oh, well _that_ was obvious.

I look down at my lap out of shame for completely ruining my first impression. I get a second chance and I've already fucked it up? Karma's kicking my ass.

Well, dinner's ruined.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

Playlist for this chapter

**Girl U Want by Devo**

**I Put a Spell On You (Cover) by The Kills**

**Eli's Theme by Johan Söderqvist (From _Let the Right One In_)**

**Talk Show Host by Radiohead**

Thank you for the review **A Fury of Blue**! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Not too much to say about this chapter. We get a little more insight into Emily's past, but the next chapter will give us more. Her past is like a Darren Aronofsky film. For those of you who have seen _Black Swan_ and _Requiem for a Dream_, you'll understand what I mean.

And for some clarification, this story takes place after the anime ending, but I will be incorporating the manga in here as well, regarding Noah and Justin. We will also meet two more characters who are a part of Emily's past. In my opinion, she's a tragic hero who caught herself just before she hit the bottom, trying desperately to crawl back up the wheel of fate.

As for the M rating, I do plan for a sex scene. However, other contributing factors include language, drug use, sensitive topics (such as mental health and suicide), violence, and disturbing content. We will see more development of Emily and Kid's relationship as the story moves to the third chapter.

Reviews please! I want to know what you guys think!

- Nicole


	3. Get Back In the Saddle

"_If you knew_  
><em>That I could take the pain<em>  
><em>Inflict it at the battle<em>  
><em>With faithful arrows<em>  
><em>You might get back in the saddle<em>  
><em>But it's a special death you saved<em>  
><em>For me the brown eyed daughter<em>"

**- Mirah, ' Special Death'**

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

"_Lucy come on!"_

_Smoke started to ventilate through my lungs, making it harder and harder to breathe. I could barely make out anything farther than arm's length due to the quickly thickening smog. My legs were shaking as I ran, and I found myself tripping all over myself with panic and fear to what was behind us. _

_Lucy was coughing like she was about to upchuck her lungs. The air stank with the fumes of her smoke, which was unusual, because Lucy's fires never smelled of anything foul. The scent of it was overwhelming, and its own source clearly couldn't stand to keep breathing it in. I gripped her arm tighter as we ran through the empty school hall_. _Over eighty years of demon meister/weapon training was going up in flames, which I had been the cause of. My father would be absolutely delighted at this act of sacrilege._

_But burning down SIN Technical School was going to be the least of my worries. _

_Lucy was beginning to fall behind, despite my desperate tugs to pull her along. If we wasted anymore time there would be no way we'd make it out alive. She was already too weak to transform again._

_I wondered if the stories about people seeing the face of God before kicking the bucket were true. Considering that I could barely see the faint light marking our exit, it was stupid of me to even give that sort of thought the time of day._

_People don't think like themselves after committing arson I guess._

"_Something's wrong with me…" Lucy choked out. The spacey amusement to her voice was gone, replaced with a fantastical fear of reality. I was able to make out the look of panic across her baby doll face, her wide blue eyes watery from smoke irritation and her bobbed blonde hair sticking to the dirty sweat across her brow. _

_She started to shake and cough up something terrible onto the back of her hand. _

"_I'm not letting you die in here! We have to move!"_

_My pleas were in vain. With a strangled gasp, my best friend crumpled to the ashen ground. _

_As I moved to drag her along, my heart missed a beat. _

_A new sensation traveled through my body, turning around the flow of my blood and reversing the beating of my pulse. I inhaled an unfortunate amount of dirty air enough to cough up a fair sized amount of black…blood. My veins began to vibrate and my skin began to tingle. As Lucy continued to hack like a veteran smoker, I looked down at my arms. _

_Something was bubbling under my skin. My blood was rioting in the confines of my arteries and veins trying desperately to beat through my skin. _

_I quickly felt at the back of my neck. The skin around where the syringe had been stabbed in between the top notches of my spine was twitching and moving with new life. I could have vomited, but the air was so thick with smoke and heat that it sobered me up from my nausea. _

"_Oh God…"_

_At that moment I realized I was in _big_ fucking trouble. At that moment I realized the monster was living inside me._

_At that moment I realized just how much my life _sucks_. _

_My hands fell back to grab Lucy by the shoulders, intending to drag her out of the school myself before we both died. She was still coughing her throat raw. _

"_Lucy, get up! Let's go!" I yanked at the fabric of her dress with tragic desperation. She tried to pull herself up, but her blood had turned black as well, and she was quickly being drained of any strength or focus she possessed. _

_Suddenly, a loud popping sound rang through the air._

_Then Lucy cried out with a strangled yelp._

_Something warm splattered across my face. _

_My best friend fell away from me, clutching her arm where the sniper bullet had pierced through her artery, howling as she was quickly drenched in her own _blood_._

_I spun around towards the blurry light of flames. _

_The black silhouette of my beloved traitor, my own personal Judas, stood amidst the fire, his transformed sniper rifle arm aimed to shoot a second bullet through my heart. _

_With Lucy's blood dribbling down my neck, I murmured out from between my cracked lips, "You son of a bitch..."_

"_Love you too baby."_

_Bang._

The sound of my alarm clock awakens me from reliving the single worst moment of my life. And of all the shitty experiences I have gone through within the last seven months, the shameful memory of feeling my best friend's blood splatter across my cheeks only beats out the rest by a margin of disturbance.

I rub the memories of smoke, fire, tainted blood, and betrayal from my drowsy eyes. I'm shaking. I felt every hellish second of it as strongly as I did when it was in real time. My sheets are twisted around my legs, like an Ikea cocoon from hell ensnaring me to by more cheaply made textiles.

Even after I rub the last few drops of sleep from my eyes, I still see Lucy. This time she's in a bleach white hospital room hooked up to all these different machines that beep and hum in accordance to her heartbeat and pulse. She won't wake up until she's ready, if at all. And Thurston has lost all of his good natured jokey antics because his weapon might never regain consciousness. And he makes sure that I know it's all because I got her involved in something so seedy. I want Lucy to dance around my room in pastel dresses with Peter Pan collars, remarking about the facts that Edgar Allan Poe died of syphilis and married his teenage cousin with morbid fascination. But she can't do that anymore, and Thurston says it's all my fault. Lucy is wearing too much white; it washes away the rosy color of her cheeks. If she could talk she'd probably say she looks like a Victorian era crib death. She'd find that cleverly poetic in a beautifully macabre way.

I pull my hair back out of my face, kneading the heels of my hands into my forehead to rid the thoughts of my comatose friend. The smell of brewing coffee hits my nose and I remember what today is. New home, new city, new school, new life. I just woke up to my life's regrets and to the Red Hot Chili Peppers blaring on the radio. Fucking yuck.

If my wake up is any indication or omen, today is going to _suck_.

I throw my alarm clock radio across the room.

* * *

><p>"I hope you know you're apologizing to Death the Kid about last night."<p>

I glare at Kenji, in his stupid purple American Apparel hoodie and that dumb floppy grey beanie of his from over the rim of my Little Mermaid coffee mug. You can take the dork away from his hipster homeland but he'll still be a hipster dork wherever he goes. "God, can I at least finish my morning cup of coffee before you start nagging me?"

Kenji doesn't seem very amused with my daily dose of morning snark by the look he gives me upon sitting down at the table with his PopTart.

"Chill, Kenji. I'm going to apologize, okay? You're not the only one who was embarrassed last night…I only gave Lord Death's son an aneurism at the mention of his hair. How was I supposed to know he'd bleed out all over the place?"

I watch as Kenji tears intently into his breakfast. Mmm, nothing like confectionary sugar and empty calories in the morning.

"Aunt Jo and Uncle Charlie called while you were busy throwing your radio at the wall by the way," Kenji says, giving me a look explaining he knows the cycle of my morning antics all too well. "They wanted to make sure we got settled in alright and paid a visit to Lord Death."

I'm not like many teenagers in the sense that I don't see my parents as annoying losers. The one thing I'm going to miss the most about Boston is that there will be no pasta dinners to cook on Sunday nights alongside my Dad and no fun trips to thrift stores with my Mom. We're quite literally in the middle of nowhere.

"By 'pay a visit to Lord Death' are you inferring you told them about last night's incident or do they wants us to play tea party?" I say after a satisfying sip of hazelnut coffee.

"I think Aunt Jo and Uncle Charlie have enough things to worry about aside from you nearly killing Death the Kid. I spared them the knowledge."

Kenji may be a pain in the ass with a stick up his butt sometimes, but he's got my back. When we were little I used to steal candy from the local drug store, and although he always yelled at me about it, he never told my parents. Then again, that might be because I always shared my free candy with him.

We finish the rest of breakfast in silence, with Kenji taking quick glances at the god-awful cat clock to check the time. School starts at eight forty five, it's barely ten past eight, we'll be fine if we leave in five minutes and make no stops along the way.

But I haven't had my second cup of coffee yet.

* * *

><p>"We're going to be late on our first day Emily! Can't you go a day without doubling the recommended daily caffeine intake?"<p>

I take a quick sip from my Star-I mean-_Deathbucks_ latte. Ooo, how clever. "We've got six minutes. DWMA isn't going to blast off at quarter to nine." I fix the positioning of my heart shaped sunglasses on the bridge of my nose. Mom calls them my "Lolita" sunglasses. I think that's sort of in poor taste associating sunglasses to a book about pedophilia. Good book though.

Kenji starts to pick up his pace to a power walk as we travel closer and closer to our destination. It's a good thing big castles with huge candles (a.k.a. Disney World according to your local Hot Topic) are pretty hard to miss, else we would've gotten lost and then Kenji would have a legitimate reason to worry. Besides, I bought him a cookie at Star-_Deathbucks_. Copyright infringement can go suck it. I take an obnoxiously loud sip of my latte as Kenji starts going on again about how important first impressions are.

"Look, it's right here. Now all we have to do is climb up all the goddamn steps and we're good," I say as we reach the main entrance to the…main entrance. Uh.

Kenji's eyes are like pinwheels as he looks up and down all those stairs. Students are gathering, littering about here and there, engaging in casual conversation or making their way up all those flights of stairs.

I take one last sip of my latte and toss it into a conveniently placed trash barrel at the foot of the entrance. "Shibusen Death Weapon Meister Academy here we come."

As Kenji and I start our ascent up the stairs, all these awe struck faces are watching us, some pointing and whispering to their friends, others giving us a quick look over.

"They're staring at us…" Kenji says, elbowing my side. Jesus, he's already getting short on breath? We're only half way there you sack of hipster crap! Maybe if he didn't sit around playing Halo while I spent an hour on the elliptical he'd be in better shape rather than posses the body of a gangly otaku.

"Let 'em. It's probably not all that often they get new students in the middle of a term. Most of these kids are in the NOT class, so maybe they're just wondering how two new students got partnered up so quickly." I fix my sunglasses, as I'm still unused to such powerful rays of sunlight in seasons other than summer and late spring.

As we reach the last flight of stairs, Kenji's finally gotten over being short of breath and giving a care about the various students sizing us up.

"Are you going to be okay?"

I fist my hands into the pockets of my bomber jacket, sucking my lip in between my teeth. Am I? I mean, I've gotten nothing but bad omens for the last forty eight hours and one broken clock radio. Not to mention that I'm only choosing to pick back up on my meister duties because I have unfinished business to attend to. Had things taken care of themselves as Lucy and I had intended, I'd probably have given up being a meister. I don't care anymore if Kenji is made into a Death Scythe or not, even though we've already collected about half the needed souls required. Kenji can tell I've lost my spark and it kills him judging by the way he looks at me these days. We've been a team since I was seven and he was eight. Eight years later and that relationship has been seriously compromised.

Instead of throwing my arms up in defeat and running in the opposite direction, as I so desperately want to, I convince myself to nod. Kenji doesn't know the exact extent of my problems because he doesn't _need_ to know; he worries enough about me already. Nobody else needs to get _hurt_ because of me. It's my job to atone for all the crap I blindly pulled, and if that means painting a false smile on my face and going back to the life I wanted to put behind me, then I'll do it.

"Let's just get through today Kenji."

God, I even depress myself.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

"For crying out loud Kid, you've tried dyeing your hair five times within the last five months and _every single time_ it's failed. What makes you think a _sixth_ try is going to work?"

Liz is particularly cranky in the morning before school starts, which honestly grates at my nerves, because all I asked of her was to pick me up some hair color during lunch break. After last night's dinner, I regained consciousness with a reborn urge to rid my hair of its imperfections once and for all. Normal hair dye doesn't work, as Grim Reapers are impervious to poisons, but what if I added tar?

"Actually Liz, I was planning on mixing the dye with tar to make it stick-"

"YOU ARE _NOT_ PUTTING TAR IN YOUR HAIR KID, ARE YOU INSANE?"

"Hahahaha! Kid's a street!"

"Patti seems all for the idea, I don't see the problem…"

"YOU'RE SERIOUSLY GOING TO PUT TAR IN YOUR HAIR BECAUSE YOUR NEW LITTLE CRUSH OPENED HER BIG MOUTH?"

My face flushes a light shade of red at the mention of the catalyst to the reopened hatred for my Sanzu Lines. I fist my hands at my sides as we enter the school building. "Is it so _hard _for you to understand the importance of balance in my life? I am a hideous excuse of my own aesthetic and she _laughed at me._"

I watch Liz roll her eyes from my peripheral vision. I also see Patti steal a lollipop from a NOT student but I'll scold her about that later. "Kid, she didn't mean it! You should've seen the look on her face when you hit the floor spurting blood everywhere."

"Delighted?"

Liz begins to count off her manicured fingernails. "Try shocked, confused, freaked out, and embarrassed."

"I'm still giving the tar dye idea a chance though…"

"OH FOR THE LOVE OF-"

Suddenly, the sound of commotion reaches my ears. I turn towards the source, which is down the nearest hall in front of Professor Stein's classroom, where a large amount of students have suddenly gathered to watch some strange happening.

"What in Death's name is going on now?" I run down the hall, intent on breaking up the group of onlookers to some stupid daily occurrence. From previous experience, I bet it's just Black Star getting chased out of the girl's locker room for the third time this month. Nothing out of the ordinary, but certainly in the range of annoying.

"Kid! KID! GET BACK HERE I AM NOT DONE DISCUSSING YOUR TERRIBLE IDEA WITH YOU YET!"

"Hey sis, did the circus come to town?"

As I push my way through the sea of students to get to the origin of whatever it is that has caused such a ruckus, I notice the students are whispering and pointing. I realize why when I finally see the spectacle everyone is captivated by.

It's Emily Valentine. Specifically, it's Emily Valentine with her heel pressed against the neck of male NOT student whose face has gone sheet white with fear. She's standing over him with an icy scowl, her hands resting upon her hips, giving her a look of graceful and effortless danger. Her partner, Kenji, is standing off to the side with his palm to his face, probably wanting to be anywhere else but here at the moment.

"Look, I don't know what your code of ethics here is regarding the welcoming of new students, but I'm sure as hell it doesn't include playing grab ass!" She leans in to point a finger directly in the boy's face. "Now the next time you even think about putting your hands on any ass other than your own, be it mine or some other poor girl's, I'm going to aim the heel of this boot right through your jugular." She presses down on the boy's neck to emphasize her point, causing him to let out a strangled gasp. "Don't fuck with me. Got it?" The boy begins to nod vigorously, as if pleading for his life.

Emily pulls her foot from off of his neck. "Get out of my sight." I have truly never seen anyone run so fast from a girl in my life.

The red headed girl tugs her bomber jacket back up onto her shoulders and walks over to her partner. I can barely make out their conversation as they make their way through the whispering crowd of students.

"What happened to first impressions?"

"You saw that guy feel up my butt! Why not criticize _that_ first impression?"

With the spectacle over, the crowd of students begins to disperse, still ablaze with conversation.

I suppose today is going to be one of _those_ days.

* * *

><p>Word of Emily Valentine and her vendetta against un-consented rear end groping spread quickly, if the lively chatter in Moon Crescent Class is any indication. I have not heard such commotion amongst the students since I began attending. New students tend to be the center of conversation for a good two weeks, and since Asura's defeat has become old news in the prior weeks, nothing of substantial interest has occurred for students to pick words away at.<p>

Some students find this morning's clash to be fantastical; others find it to be underlying trouble. Peers are abuzz in clustered groups, sitting on desks and leaning against the backs of chairs, all talking about the "interesting" first impression made by the new students.

As Patti, Liz, and myself make our way over to where our group usually sits for Professor Stein's lectures, I hear tidbits of conversation coming from the other students in the class.

"She flipped the kid over and, like, threw him on the ground as if he were, like, a bag of trash!"

"Good for her! Alice Liddel complained just last week some NOT student was making grabs for her butt. The guys here are such pigs."

"Then she told the kid she'd kill him if he tried it again on anyone. What has two thumbs and will be staying clear of quick tempered red heads? This guy."

"Marcus Creeper said the kid pissed his pants…"

"Aw, that's nasty."

If there is one thing I'm certain about in regards to Emily Valentine, it's that she knows how to make a long-lasting first impression. Also, her stance form while she had her foot pressing down on the neck of that NOT student was precise and perfect.

Patti, to no surprise, finds this morning's top story to be quite a panic. Liz is busy talking about "girl power" to my deaf ears and how she plans on asking Kenji about his relationship status, thankfully forgetting to continue rambling on about my brilliant tar-dye idea. It _will_ work and I am _sure_ of it.

As we take our seats, Maka and Tsubaki are in the middle of vocally approving their new friend's assertive role, as they constantly have to put their own partner's perverted behaviors in their respective places. Soul and Black Star, on the other hand, are trying to hide the uneasy intimidation in their voices, since their ridiculously high testosterone levels already get them into enough trouble with their female counterparts. With Maka lugging around that heinously sized dictionary, Tsubaki's paralyzing right hook, and now the threat of Emily's heel piercing through one of their main arteries, I assume they have come to the silent conclusion to hold off on sexual deviancy until further notice.

The clear sound of Professor Stein entering the room at top speed on his rolling chair, and the resultant crash that always follows ("He really needs a new method of entrance. This is getting old." Liz mutters) ends the classroom wide chatter. Nobody gives any reason to anger Stein, as the lawyers deemed the organ harvesting papers we all blindly signed away to him were air tight and legal.

Professor Stein peels himself off the floor, picking up his chair without any acknowledgement to his consistently failing dynamic entry. He stands straight, brushes his lab coat off, and cranks that oversized bolt in the side of his head.

"Before we begin today's lesson on soul wavelength manipulation, I would like to introduce two new students to our academy." He motions towards the large double doors, which open at his command. Emily and Kenji walk in, restarting the hushed whispering amongst the student body as the duo make their way to the front of the class. A look I can only describe as "mentally unhinged" from Professor Stein puts a quick end to the outbreak of murmurs. "Please welcome Emily Valentine and her weapon Kenji Keechi. They are transferring here from our Boston branch school, SIN Technical School, which as many of you know, burnt down last month." He folds his arms across his chest as he plops himself back into his desk chair. "Please introduce yourselves to the class."

Kenji carefully pushes his thick rimmed glasses up his nose. "I'm Kenji, I'm a poleaxe weapon from the Keechi axe family, and my cousin Emily and I are happy to be attending Shibusen DWMA, isn't that right?"

Emily rolls her eyes and nods sourly. Clearly, Kenji must have advised her to stay out of introductions following this morning's episode. He's the only one capable of taming the shrew apparently, if you would like to call it that.

"Would you kindly show us your transforming skills?" Stein asks, once again turning the unsymmetrical bolt in his skull. It's terribly distracting.

Kenji shrugs in his purple hooded sweater as Emily places herself into a battle stance, her feet braced wide on both sides and her arms reaching up over her head, as if she's bored herself. There's a sudden flash of purple light around Kenji as he loses his human form, flying into the air and dropping into his partner's open hands. The soul energy dissipates and is replaced by a large poleaxe, which Emily places upright at her side. The battle weapon stands about six feet tall, the spear looming over the head of its technician.

And I must say, it is a _beautiful_ demonic weapon form, with a black plated wielding pole encrusted with large black gems and ensnared with ropes of gold like veins, ending in a sharp spike at the top. The curved spear of the axe itself is a gleaming gold, razor sharp and reflecting Kenji's bust on the clean surface.

The class breaks out in awe at the fine beauty before us, to none of my surprise. And oh the _beauty_! The pole to spear ratio appears perfectly balanced at first glance! I'd like to use my measuring tape just to be sure however.

Professor Stein claps in approval, complimenting Kenji's form as the purple light of soul energy reshapes the poleaxe back into human form. "Now, there are some legal documents I would like the two of you to sign, but I'll save that for after today's lecture. Take your seats and see me after class when the bell rings."

That man has them thinking they are going to be signing curriculum outlines rather than organ donation documents…I should probably warn th-

Wait a second.

The only vacant seats in the classroom are the aisle seat at my right and the seat in front of me next to Liz.

Kenji is quick to take the seat by Liz, much to his partner's annoyance if the foul look she gives him means anything. Then, her penny eyes take notice of the seat to my right, and a flash of discomfort crosses her face. My heartbeat thumps in my ear drums as she pulls out the chair. She's probably still disgusted by my hair, as she can't bear to look at me when she settles into her seat, pulling out a pen and a composition notebook to take notes.

Maybe I can sneak out of class and pick up the black hair dye and tar, fix my hair, and then come back to class without anyone noticing my absence. Then she won't be disgusted by me! I'll embody perfection. Then she will let me count the number of eyelashes on each of her eyelids and brush her red hair into even parts. Yes…wonderful.

My pleasant thoughts are disrupted by the thrust of a composition notebook in front of me. The penmen ship is a neatly legible scrawl, reading;

_Really sorry about last night. I didn't mean to make you freak out or anything, I had no clue it was a sensitive issue for you. Would've apologized last night but you were still passed out. Sorry for being rude, it was embarrassing. Hope you can forgive me. – Emily_

I read the note over about eight successive times before it strikes me. Why is she apologizing? She only gave a natural reaction to my laughable inconsistency, pointing out the obvious foolishness I possess. Out of the corner of my eye, she's looking at me from under the blanket of her blood red hair, her lower lip with its piercings puffing out in an apologetic pout.

Stein is going on about the basics of soul wavelength manipulation, which I am all too well accustomed with. There's no need for me to listen, so I carefully write out a response under Emily's handwritten apology.

_**No reason to apologize, as I do in fact look ludicrous. I apologize for my disgraceful appearance. I shall be dyeing my hair with tar today if that eases your discomfort. – D.T.K.**_

I shove the notebook back to her, and I watch her read it out of my peripheral vision. Now she's looking at me with a countenance of confusion and shock, her red mouth agape and her eyebrows narrowed as if she's seen something horrendously stupid. She scribbles a quick response and pushes the notebook back in front of me.

_Oh God, please don't put tar in your hair. No, you don't look foolish so don't beg for my forgiveness because I'm the bitch here. I could help you correctly dye your hair if you want. Just please, avoid tar. _

_I like your hair the way it is BTW._

Again, it's hard to surprise me these days. The average life of a Grim Reaper is anything but to the regular human, let alone the life of a meister or a demonic weapon. Normalcy is a type of diamond rarity in my life, which I don't mind, but when that diamond is placed in front of me on composition notebook paper, it's shocking.

Emily is giving me wide eyed sideway glances, trying to make it look like she is paying attention to Stein's lesson by the way she places her pen to her lips. If Chrona were here, I'm sure she would exclaim the only words that could sum up my feelings; "I don't know how to deal with this."

_**You don't find my hair to be corrupting my appearance? I lack symmetry and as a reaper balance is required in every aspect to achieve my duties.**_

_Okay, I don't understand your gripe with "symmetry" but whatever. I once freaked out before a big ballet recital when I was seven because I wasn't wearing a pink tutu. My mom told me I was freaking out over nothing and I sucked it up and did my routine despite my issue with the wrong colored tutu. I think the only person who cares about your hair being an issue is yourself. Don't mean to sound rude, just trying to help. _

Once again, I have to read over Emily's message eight times to fully understand it. From what I can deduct, it seems she doesn't _care _about my lack of symmetry. Maybe Liz was right for once.

_**I appreciate your advice. **_

_Can we just start over and forget about my bomb of a first impression? Hi, I'm Emily Valentine and I'm a meister, nice to meet you. I just moved here with my partner Kenji who plays too much Halo and he's totally hitting on one of your weapons right now._

Yes, Liz and Kenji do seem to be engaging in some flirtatious exchanges.

_**I am sure you realize that the entire school is abuzz about you, correct?**_

_I was fixing my shoe and the next thing I know some jerkoff is grabbing me with his grubby hands! Are you aware that there is sexual harassment running ramped around your father's school? Honestly._

_**It's more or less blatant stupidity running amuck here. You will get used to it. **_

As I pass this message back to Emily, I notice a small smile creep across her lips, which disappears as quickly as it appears.

_Can you not dye your hair with tar though? Kenji is pissed off at me enough for last night. I don't want him to think I've broken your sanity. _

_**I'll consider it.**_

As Emily looks at me incredulously, mouthing what I assume to be "Are you crazy?" at me, the intercom goes off with an ear splitting hiss.

"EMILY VALENTINE AND KENJI KEECHI, PLEASE REPORT TO THE DEATH ROOM IMMEDIATELY. THAT IS ALL."

The sea of whispering returns in response to my father on the loud speaker once the classroom is finished nursing their ringing ears.

"Kid, dude, your dad needs to realize that intercom is assassinating my hearing ability. Not cool."

"MY EARS! MY GODLY EARS THEY BLEED!"

Kenji turns around, gives Emily a disapproving look, and gets out of his seat. Emily runs her hands through her hair and shakes her head as if to rid an awful migraine before taking her notebook, placing it back into her leather backpack, and getting out of her seat.

I forget to tell her not to sign those documents Stein's going to give them.

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

"How well do you think this is going to over with Lord Death, on a scale of one to ten, Em, how well do you think he's going to take you assaulting a fellow student?"

"You saw that dick put his hands on me! Why are you acting like I made him a eunuch, which I should have done in hindsight?"

Kenji rubs at his temples as we make our way down the vacant halls to the large double doors of the Death Room. "Besides, you're just mad at me because your macking on Kid's partner was disrupted. You really need to stop displacing your anger."

Kenji gets red in the face. He always gets red in the face when he's angry, like the blood vessels in his face are popping simultaneously. It's been that way since I dumped a bucket of sand on his head when we were little kids in the sandbox. "You do understand this is supposed to be a fresh start for us? You're getting a second shot, you're lucky you weren't disbarred from the system! Are you trying to ruin your own life?"

Fresh start, huh. A fresh start is when you move to Hollywood to go from infomercial honey to Oscar winner. A fresh start is when you go off to college and attend as many frat parties as possible to make up for the fact that you were the girl in High School who barfed at Pep Rally. This isn't a fresh start; this is my attempt to atone for what I did. Being a bit quick tempered is the price I have to pay for teetering on and off the edge of sanity.

Sorry to drone on and on about it, because it's such a fucking downer to listen to someone bitch and moan about how fucked up their problems are. I'd punch myself too.

I'm not trying to mess this up, honestly, I'm not. The problem is I'm running on a different motivation now. I'm no longer doing it for myself or because I want to fight the madness. The madness lives inside me now. It's taunting me over the fact that I have unfinished business to attend to. It won't tell me where they are, that's for me to figure out. My own blood is turned against me. Kenji doesn't know this; he thinks I had a psychological accident. It was an accident alright, but what resulted wasn't an accident.

"No Kenji, I am not trying to sabotage myself. I feel plenty shitty about everything, don't you think?" I stop in front of the doors to the Death Room, giving my cousin a hard glare that reflects in the lenses of his glasses. I look tired.

Kenji sighs. I know he feels bad about having to constantly worry about me, like I'm a puppy who hasn't been house trained yet and keeps peeing on the imported leather couch. "All I'm saying is that we finally found a place to keep you from getting into any trouble. You always manage to find a mess to put yourself in."

A place where there isn't any trouble. Kenji's not a stupid kid, so why is he so unrealistic? I certainly don't start trouble, it finds me. I'm a trouble magnet. I don't know why or how, but I just am.

Yeah, whatever. We push the doors open to reveal the inside of the Death Room, which is quite the spectacle. It's a room of optical illusions, seemingly endless like the desert surrounding Death City. I feel like I've just stepped through the goddamn looking glass. There are curly black clouds floating about and the tops of guillotines trailing along the path to Lord Death's platform. I see the famed mirror, which acts as Lord Death's window to the world beyond Death City. Man it must suck having to be stuck in one place for eternity. You'd think the guy would be able to go wherever he pleased once Asura was finally dead and gone. Nope, he's stuck here just the same, with a dinky mirror and his Obsessive Compulsive son and prestigious school ramped with ass gropers.

"Ho, ho, ho! Emily Valentine and Kenji Keechi, I have not seen the two of you since you were as big as a minute!"

Lord Death himself steps out from behind his mirror, bouncing on his tail with jolliness Santa would envy, his mask contorting into an expression of glee. "It is wonderful for the both of you to finally be attending Shibusen DWMA! Please, no need to be shy! Come forward!"

This sure doesn't seem like a disciplinary reprimand. Kenji is too paranoid for his own good.

"Good morning Lord Death, it's an honor to finally be here," Kenji responds with a bow, motioning me to do the same upon approaching the top step of the platform. "We'd like to thank you for continuing to hold your offer of attendance up to us. Ever since SIN burnt down things have been pretty crazy lately."

_Crazy_ is a serious understatement.

"Well I am happy to see the two of you doing so well," Lord Death exclaims as he turns to me, his masked features breaking out into a delighted smile. "Emily, I see you are the spitting image of Lilith. Your soul has all the beauty and all the spunk hers had. You've turned out to be quite the fine technician."

Oh Lilith. Great great grandmother. Can you see me now? Aren't you just horrified at the mess I've made of your legacy? You, the first female technician, who created four successive Death Scythes and worked as Lord Death's right hand (wo)man, who fought on the front lines during World War I, who dropped it all to marry a veteran and open up a branch academy, aren't you just disturbed by me? I, the first female meister born of your bloodline, the daughter you desperately wanted but couldn't have, have corrupted you. At least I've got your good looks and your sparkling personality.

Rather than tell Lord Death to cut the bullshit, I smile with all the falseness of a lawyer. "Thank you very much. Yeah, I guess things got a little crazy for awhile. I'm better now I guess." Yeah, a better liar.

"Ho, ho, ho! Well don't look too stiff you two! You've done nothing wrong!" Told you Kenji. "I would just like to converse with my new newest pupils." For a Grim Reaper, this guy is as chipper as a forties musical. He's more of a caricature of himself. Or a weird Uncle. "But speaking of Lilith, there is something I would like to show the two of you,"

Lord Death bounces over to a golden rope next to two, long, red stage curtains, which I swear weren't there two seconds ago. "Before your great great grandmother died, she entrusted this to me, which I was to give to her first female technician heir. I've done some modifying to it in order to keep it from becoming obsolete, but it's still got that old timey feel to it! After all, as my two newest students, you're going to need some means of transportation for going out on missions!" He pulls the rope with his oversized gloved hand.

The curtains part to reveal a tricked out World War I era tank, decorated with various skull masks and painted black with white stripes along the large gun.

I look at Kenji, my mouth agape in awe. Lord Death continues to chirp away, "Lilith sure loved this tank. And now it's your Emily." I would love to start fist pumping because holy shit I've got a fucking tank, but the next thing that comes out of his mouth is, "Of course, since you're only fifteen, you can't actually drive it. In the mean time, I shall give the keys to Kenji, as he is sixteen and in possession of a driver's license!"

He tosses the keys to Kenji, who is all too pleased with himself because he totally just jipped me out of my sweet new ride. Goddamn tank stealer. I'll have you know he failed his first driving test because he didn't put his seatbelt on.

"Is that all Lord Death?" I can't really help the pouting look I've got cemented onto my face. My stick up the ass cousin gets to drive my cool new tank. You'd be pretty pissed off too.

Lord Death bounces over and gives me a quick pat on the head with his huge Mickey Mouse hand. "Just one more thing; I have arranged for you, Emily, to begin seeing Professor Stein for therapy sessions."

What? "What?"

"It will only be for a short while! In the mean time, you two are all clear to begin your extracurricular missions and harvest souls! You will do this institution well, I'm sure of it!" Lord Death gives Kenji a swift hit to the back, and the reaper clearly doesn't know his own strength because Kenji nearly has an asthma attack. "Your first session starts on Thursday. I'll keep the tank on school premises until your first mission. You may go back to class now! Have a wonderful day!"

Yup, it's official. Today is one of _those _days.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

Sorry for taking so long on this! College applications are crazy, senior year is time consuming, my internet went out and Verizon did jack shit about it. This is nearly 7,000 words so this should hold you guys over until Christmas.

So I've introduced you guys to Lucy Wallace, and partially to her technician Thurston Palmer. And more elusive stuff about Emily. And some development into her and Kid's relationship. And Lilith. And a tank. And I'll introduce you to this mysterious figure from her past in the next chapter, I promise.

This story has more of a _Wizard of Oz _feel to it than an _Alice in Wonderland _feel. By the way, see if you can spot some of the Easter Eggs I've planted in here.

Here's the playlist:

**A Forest by The Cure**

**Bad Reputation by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts**

**Blood Gets Thin by Pete & The Pirates**

**Special Death by Mirah**

**Cherrybomb by The Runaways**

**Cat Claw by The Kills**

Review and favorite guys! I work hard!

Nicole


	4. To Be Someone Else

"_I want to, I want to be someone else or I'll explode  
>Floating upon the surface for<br>The birds, the birds, the birds_

_You want me, well fucking well come and find me_  
><em>I'll be waiting with a gun and a pack of sandwiches<em>  
><em>And nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing<em>"

**- Radiohead, 'Talk Show Host'**

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

"My son, I have something very important to discuss with you."

My honorable father tends not to "discuss" matters with me. Rather, he will inquire about my day, ask about my friends, and continue to comment on how "_cute_" my Sanzu Lines always look (much to my ire of course). I realized our usual method of conversation was going to diverge today when he dismissed Spirit from the Death Room. This wasn't going to be simple father-son talk, no, this was to be a "discussion".

The last time my father and I engaged in a "discussion", he tried telling me about the manners of sexual intercourse. Needless to say, the awkwardness that ensued caused me to run back to Gallows Manor and rearrange the picture frames in every room until I could forget the way my he pronounced the word for female genitalia.

"If this is about procreation rituals father, please spare-"

"Ho, ho, ho! Of course not! Oh Kid, you never cease to amuse your dear old Dad!"

I relax back in father's golden chair. Well, that's a relief. My father is aware that at nearly sixteen, I am at the peak of my adolescence, and that any more words regarding the nature of sexual activity is now futile thanks to living with the Thompson sisters and having an unfortunate run in with Black Star's "reading" collection. Not that the sexual development of grim reapers are the same as the human species'.

"I am sure you are aware of our two newest students…"

I perk up, now re-interested in conversing with my father. My hands grip themselves tight to the golden armrests. "Yes, Emily and Kenji. They moved into the apartment next to Soul and Maka." I lean forward. "What about them?"

My father turns away from me, clasping his hands behind his cloaked back to analyze his reflection in his grand mirror.

"Well, they are Lady Lilith's heirs. Or didn't you know that, hmm?"

It's a name I am all too accustomed to hearing. It's the name of my father's former prodigy. The portrait of a beautiful woman with red hair piled atop her head, hey eyes painted with an aura of grace and elegance, has hung in the library at Gallow's Manor for as long as I can remember. There is an entire chapter dedicated to Lilith in any book about the great meisters of the world.

Now that I think of it, I'm a fool for not realizing it sooner. There was a reason I found Emily Valentine's appearance so distinctive and breath taking, as she was Lilith's painting reincarnated into flesh and blood. Yes, Lady Lilith Kiddo, who married World War I veteran Robert Valentine and opened SIN Technical School. Father often reminisced about her when he believed I was no longer paying attention.

I still cannot help the sound of surprise that bleeds into my voice as I muttered, "I see…is that all?"

My father turns back to look at me over his shoulder. Behind his mask, I'm positive his ageless face has broken out into a smile. "Well Kid, I would like for you to keep a close eye on Emily." He turns back to his reflection. "She's a little too much like Lilith, in that her soul has too much ambition for her own good. While Kenji seems to be doing a fine job already of balancing her out, I believe it would be a good idea of you to steer her down the correct path!"

Emily Valentine has already taken up a fair sized amount of my thinking time, from the troubling state of her soul to the way her face contorted into that sour pout, she is like no one I've spent more than a single thought dwelling upon.

Excuse me while I pick my jaw up and off of the floor, as my father's request is ironically unusual. Is Lady Lilith's portrait off center? What is it that I was planning to use tar for?

I take a moment to recompose myself. A chance to get close to Emily, huh?

The same urge that tells me to iron the curtains and count the number of books on each shelf in the school library begins to come over me at the thought. However, this urge has a more _primal _edge that begins a steady course in my body; I don't just feel the need for self satisfaction in this yearning.

Maybe I should have listened better to father's "coming of reaper age" discussions.

But before I take up my father's offer, there is one thing I should ask…

"Father, is there something wrong with her?"

In Shakespeare, it's called "dramatic irony". It's when the audience knows something that the characters on stage are completely ignorant to, which serves to deepen the element of tragedy. I am aware to the existence of this dramatic irony, but I am ignorant to what it is, like the tragic heroes who will not discover it until it is too late. Father is the audience, but the third wall prevents him from spoiling the story.

My father bounces over to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Everyone just needs a little guidance now and then," he chirps, all the while wrinkling the lapels on my blazer. "You do have a knack for balancing things!"

So this makes Emily Valentine another painting, candle, eight, and Egyptian pyramid.

Something is clearly amiss; this dramatic irony I can feel wafting through the air I'm breathing. I hope this isn't a Shakespearean tragedy, with a pile of dead bodies and a few conclusive lines of words set in iambic pentameter waiting for me at the end.

I really hope Liz is doing whatever I asked her to do earlier..

* * *

><p><strong>Emily (Four days later, sun down)<strong>

Trying to reestablish yourself back into a system of normalcy is more stress inducing than I care for.

Wake up. Go to school. Listen to a lecture you could give to the class just as well. Engage in awkward conversation with peers. Go home. Do your homework. Go to bed. Lather, rinse, and repeat four times.

I feel like I'm a prisoner of war who's undergoing some serious bouts of culture shock upon returning back to her homeland. I've been stuck in some bamboo cage with assholes poking sticks at me for so long that I've forgetten how certain words are pronounced. Time will tell if I decide to go Rambo on anyone's ass.

By Tuesday morning I was suffering from some serious "weirdness" withdrawal. And to think I'm considering giving up a lifestyle that has me traveling the world kicking evil human ass. Living the life of a normal teenage girl, with nothing to worry about but boys and the next Victoria's Secret sale, would probably kill me. I look like one of those recovering drug addicts the doctors always had to strap down in the hospital because a week without smoking crack was driving them batshit insane in the crazy house. I tended to avoid the withdrawing druggies. The depressed and the self harming were more of my crowd back in there. They told pretty good stories.

Now let me just get this straight; I'm not crazy.

Well, I'm not mentally ill.

So as of lately I'm a bit self loathing and cynical. And yes, I do have many issues to sort out. The problem is that everyone thinks the "incident" turned me into this raving lunatic who claims to see shit that isn't there. I've been exposed to pure, unfiltered madness, that's certain. But I've got something living inside my spine that borrows between the top two notches to make her home. She hasn't talked to me since I was discharged though because she's trying to make me think I really was just mad as a hatter. She's my guilty, black conscious. I've got to live with her now, or at least until I can destroy her source.

That's the only reason I haven't quit.

Now can you understand the frustration I'm dealing with here? No one believed I was anything other than a seriously traumatized young girl. No one believed me when I told them that they had escaped the fire. Nobody believed me when I told them my blood had turned black.

That's the first thing Stein remarked about when I went in for my first session an hour ago. He set us up in this dank back room with a leather sofa to sit on and diagrams of the human brain.

"_So, Emily, you know the doctors found nothing wrong in your blood work, correct?"_ he said, leaning back in his swivel chair, a burning cigarette hanging from his stitched up lips.

I thought to myself, "Why the hell is the guy who tricked me into signing dissection agreement forms trying to convince me that I'm crazy?"

I nodded and told him, "_Yeah,_" and that I also know he tried to remove Black Star's kidney at lunch today. Holy hell, can that kid scream.

I'd have told him that the blood running through my veins was smart, but he started giving me this slasher smile. He's enough of a creepy looking guy, what with all those stitches and that big ass bolt in his head. Also, it's best not to mess with the world's top ranking meister who works as a local mad scientist in his spare time.

Frank Stein. Talk about ironic names. I'll get to why this is only the second best ironic name I've come across in my life.

For most of the half hour long introductory session, Stein asked me how I was feeling and if I was adjusting okay and blah blah blah. He gave me a rundown of all the shrink stuff as well. I hope being a little deranged makes for a better therapist. Maybe he'll just screw me up even more so I've got to be thrown away into a padded room with a pretty straightjacket, smearing my blood all over the place like a chimp.

He had this notebook he kept writing things down in when I talked. I'd say something and his pen would start scribbling on the page. In my head I tried to imagine what he was writing down. **Patient is a lying sack of shit who can't drive. I also plan on removing her pancreas tomorrow.** I used to be funny, now not so much. Or maybe he was just fucking with me and drawing juvenile doodles of dicks and boobs and farts. That's pretty plausible.

Then he started getting into the real, hard hitting psychological stuff that I didn't expect to go into until a session where I'd be crying in a fetal position.

"_Would you like to tell me a little about your relationship with Cain Iscariot?" _

That question hit me like a goddamn torpedo. That name, that oh so ironic name, so well given to its owner that it was damn well criminal. That name I regarded as a curse word. I want to erase that name from memory. That name is the center of all my problems, the root of all evil so to say.

I got really uncomfortable and poked a hole with my fingernail through the sofa cushion. Talking about exes is awkward enough. Now try talking about your evil ex boyfriend who you tried to kill. Your evil ex boyfriend who tricked you into helping him and his buddies create a monster. Your evil ex boyfriend who never loved you in the first place, who was really just taking you for a ride the whole time. Your evil ex boyfriend who put your best friend in a coma.

I told Stein, _"No, I really don't want to talk about him," _and then I started picking the fluff out of the hole I made. I just let him save it for next week, when I wouldn't answer it again so to save it for the following week and so on and so forth.

Then Stein reminded me what everyone, even Kenji, has been telling me for the last month since SIN burned down; _"They pulled three bodies out of the building Emily."_

Yeah, but they sure as hell weren't _their_ bodies. They're smarter than that. They went soul robbing the week before, did a little post-mortem plastic surgery, and ta-dah!, you've got yourself three toasted stooges.

I needed to convince the guy I'm not crazy, so I had no choice but to acknowledge that, yeah, three charred up bodies with matching dental work to the accused was pretty solid.

I pled the fifth for the most part though.

I didn't want to talk about Lucy either, or the way Thurston looked at me all covered in her blood as the ambulance took her away from the scene.

So Stein just wrote me a prescription for antidepressants and told me we'd meet next week at the same time. I swiped his pack of cigarettes from his desk on my way out the door, just like the candy at the local convenience store as a kid.

I picked up smoking in the hospital from this girl we called Twiggy because she was anorexic and thought seventy five pounds was the perfect weight. After one of our daily group therapy sessions, she offered me a light and the desperate emotional wreck I am took it. She had a guy on the outside sneaking her in diet pills and Marlboros, so I was basically smoking myself silly in there. One day Twiggy's guy snuck in some pot. _That_ was a good day.

So here I am, smoking a cigarette on one of DWMA's glorious balconies that overlooks all of Death City, the wind blowing in my hair and smoke filling my lungs. My hands were shaking when I lit the first cigarette twenty minutes ago. This is my third. Nicotine and caffeine are the only chemicals that get me to stop thinking about the past.

Inhale and exhale. I have to breathe manually these days. If I think too much I stop breathing. I'm so paranoid that the voice is going to start talking in it's shriveled up little girl's voice. Next thing I know I'll be at the Overlook Hotel attending great parties and chasing my spouse and kid around with Kenji in his weapon form, screaming, "HEEEEEEERRRRRREEEEEEEEE'S JOHNNY!"

Like I said, I used to be funny. That joke about _The Shining _got zero laughs I bet.

So I slowly give myself cancer to avoid thinking about the fucked up life I lead. The smoke fills my lungs, filters into my sinuses and up into my brain, and for a speck of a second I feel invincible. In that brief elapse of time, there's a chorus of voices in my head urging me to prop one leg over the balcony fencing, then the other, and then let go all together. The sensation of free falling would be worth it until I splatter all over the ground, my guts flying everywhere and my blood staining the cobblestones black or red or whatever fucking color it is now. They'd have to close the school down for a week to scrape little pieces of me off of everything. Just when they'd think they're done cleaning up the mess I made they'd find one of my fingers chilling on one of the big ass candles or my nipple still stuck to the side of the building crawling with maggots. But then the invincible feeling fades and I'm left feeling empty again, trying to chase a high I know I'm never going to catch.

I told Kenji I'd be home at sundown. It's already sundown. He still hasn't gone food shopping. We can't keep living off of PopTarts and take out. I'm sure Maka and Soul have made two plates of dinner for us, as usual. Nice neighbors, but they argue until midnight. And they have a weird fucking cat who's constantly in heat. I suppose delivery pizza won't kill us for one more night.

The sunsets in Boston didn't look this depressing.

"You do realize smoking is a terrible habit?"

Oh fucking fabulous. It's _him_.

He's been haunting me like a ghost for the past three days. I don't know what his deal is, aside from the crippling case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I only told him not to dye his hair with the stuff you pave streets with and now he's practically stalking me. I always end up sitting next to him in class and I can feel him staring at me with those gold eyes of his. While I was running the track with Maka the other day I saw a flash of striped hair peeping out of the bushes. Today at lunch he tried talking to me about the lack of symmetrical bento boxes the cafeteria sold. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and sure enough he was _there_ waiting for me outside the door to pick up his one sided conversation.

Death the Kid is an okay guy, or reaper, or whatever. But God is he a _pain_ in the ass.

Yup, it's him, as confirmed by a quick look over my shoulder, standing straight like he wants to sell me a car or tell me about the word of our Lord and savior.

I flick ash off the end of the cigarette and take a quick drag. "Don't not it 'til you try it." He's the last person on the face of this planet who should be scolding me about bad habits. Isn't that just _ironic_?

I exhale and watch the smoke get carried off by the fresh gust of early October wind. It still feels like spring here. The seasons don't change in the desert like they do in Massachusetts. It's all heat and wind; no chilly windbreaker fall days or Christmas snow, just wind and heat in a never ending cycle of desert weather.

Kid walks over to my side, eyeing my cigarette with distaste but overall seeming tolerant towards it. He leans back against the balcony fence, crossing his arms across his chest and looking at me out of the corners of his eyes.

I give the moment of awkward silence a minute to linger, pressing to see which one of us will break and speak up first. It's uncomfortable, but I really like the way he starts squirming in that pristine suit as if he's trying to ignore an amputee begging for change on the street. The wind carries a scent other than tobacco smoke into my face. It's Kid's cologne, or his natural Shinigami scent, if there's such a thing as it. It smells nice, like burning wood and morning dew.

"What are you doing here, besides underage smoking?" Kid finally asks.

I give the filter of my cigarette a quick look. It's got my lipstick imprint on it. "Had to see Professor Stein about extracurricular assignments. Then I wanted some time to myself, but that's clearly too much to ask for."

Kid shifts uncomfortably. He's probably holding himself back from snatching the cigarette from between my fingers and stomping it out with his loafer. He'll probably freak out over the mess of ash it'll l eave behind.

"So, why are you following me?" I narrow my eyes into the distance. Flick, inhale, hold, and exhale.

Poor boy's just realizing how deep he's dug his own hole. He shoves his fists into the pockets of his pants, the way he's contorting his face telling me he's trying to think of an excuse. "I like to keep an eye out on new students and make sure they're getting along alright."

"Well it's pretty fucking creepy." I'm not even going to bother calling him out on his terrible lie. I can lie my way through interrogations and not break a sweat. Kid's clearly the type of filthy stinking rich boy who never had to lie to get what he wanted. "I'm not really fond of people watching me from behind corners and bushes."

"I apologize," Kid quickly delivers, reigning back in his wealthy composure like he never lost it a minute ago. "In all honesty I find you interesting. You are Lady Lilith's heiress, correct?"

I don't choke on my cigarette smoke or let my eyes grow wide as dinner plates. Instead, I look at Kid in the kind of way you'd look at the idiot who asked about homework two seconds before the bell rings. What, so he's obsessed with me because I've got _prodigious_ genes or something? Like I'm some rare butterfly he wants to capture and pin in a glass case?

"Yeah, aren't I just _fascinating_?" It comes out sounding bitter. I top it off with a sarcastic laugh, "I picked up smoking because it's just oh so hard to live up to people's expectations. It's killing my chi." Kid just stands there and winces. "Glad you chose not to dye your hair with tar by the way."

"It's not about your lineage," he exhales. Okay, maybe I coughed a little at that. "I just find you interesting, that's all."

Interesting, huh? Interesting how? Like, midget porn interesting or school bus fire extreme pile up interesting? Like, weird high school goth interesting or Miss Death America interesting?

"I suppose this is a very strange and unusual time in your life right now," Kid says, picking himself up and out of the direction of my cigarette smoke.

And boy, does he have that right. I hope he doesn't know his father signed me up for shrink sessions with the mad scientist. Maybe it's that obvious just by looking at me that everything is a little tainted to me at the moment. He's probably just referring to moving across the country after my great great grandmother's school burnt to the ground. It's an ambiguous statement.

"Well suppose I'm already strange and unusual?" This cigarette has only two more decent drags left on it. This small talk is starting to gnaw at my brainstem.

"That makes two of us then."

And Kid's smiling as a gust of wind blows through his hair, which he promptly fixes back into place.

I'll say this again; Kid's an okay guy. He's annoying but he's an okay guy.

The sun is setting past what would be considered daylight now. Good, because I hate the way the sun looks here.

I stand up from leaning against the railing, giving my cigarette one last puff. Kid is still keeps looking at it with distaste, but I know he won't say anything more about it. It's a free country. As long as I'm doing things symmetrically he won't have a hernia.

But I haven't fulfilled my mischief quota for today.

So I flick my cigarette off the balcony, where it lands on one of the large candles.

Kid's face drops like he's just seen that interesting midget porn and wails, "WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?"

I doubt I'll ever understand his grip with symmetry. Everyone has their quirks and faults. And it is here that I make my exit, a wayward grin creeping onto my face. I've been lacking in the laugh department for quite awhile now. This is just my attempt to amuse myself, no harm no foul.

As I walk out the balcony door, I see Kid jump off the railing and onto the candle to retrieve my cigarette. "YOU'VE DESECRATED THE SYMMMETRY WITH YOUR CIGARETTE!"

This is the first real laugh I've had in a long time. It's pretty worth it.

* * *

><p><strong>Somewhere along the Texas-Mexico border<strong>

"So, what's the plan?"

"You always ask such stupid questions…"

"NO ONE ASKED YOU CAIN!"

"Whatever."

"Noah-sama, we've taken in two new members now. The plan is progressing more rapidly than we anticipated. At this rate, she's going to be ready to unleash by the end of next month if not sooner."

"Simple Gopher, we use the book to our advantage. Cain, how is her blood responding to the modified human souls?"

"She's looking good boss, real nice and pretty. She seemed to like the redheaded souls the most."

"I'm sure that's the influence of your genes."

"Speaking of redheads Noah-sama, what are we going to do about Valentine? And Wallace for that matter?"

"Wallace won't be going anywhere for the time being. We'll take care of her soon enough. You can finish that job Gopher. As for Valentine, Cain, you should know that your little girlfriend has just enrolled at DWMA with her weapon."

"I'd love to pay a visit to my girl boss…"

"No need. She's no more of a threat to us than a dream. As long as our pet project lives, we'll always have a connection to her. We'll strike when we feel like it. For now, we'll allow her some false sense of peace."

"You really think Valentine is going to make out with your stinkin' face now?"

…

"NOAH-SAMA HE JUST PUNCHED ME!"

"Cain…"

"My hand slipped. No, Gopher, Emily won't be able to make out with me once I shoot a bullet between those pretty eyes of her. But I do miss my sweet cherry doll."

"You're a real psychopath aren't you?"

"That's why I'm so good at my job."

* * *

><p><strong>Emily (The next morning at DWMA)<strong>

Kenji wants me to start getting myself back in the game as soon as possible. So here we are, standing in front of the Mission Bulletin, looking over the list of missions we can take on this weekend. I guess I'm not going to be curling up with Ben & Jerry's for a True Blood marathon this Saturday night.

"Investigate voodoo in Uganda…"

"Next." Africa makes me sad. Too many starving children and crazy dictators. I was also caught in an elephant stampede last time I visited. No thank you.

"Hunt down evil human in Detroit…"

"Last time we went to Detroit someone stole your shoes."

"I know," Kenji says sadly and folds in on himself, remembering the memories of his beautiful purple Nike's. May they rest in peace. "And they were limited edition too."

"Next."

Kenji's finger lands on a different note card. "Investigate abandoned hospital in Texas."

He looks at me for my ruling. Honestly, I don't feel like hunting for evil souls right off the bat. That's something I'll have to ease myself back into. But investigating creepy abandoned places was always my forte.

I twist the studs in my lip with my tongue in brief contemplation. "I guess we'll go to Texas then."

"Don't wear your 'Legalize Gay' shirt Em."

We walk over to the receptionist's counter. The lady behind the desk takes a quick break from filing her nails to take the note card from Kenji's fingers. "Wasn't planning on it. Really red states give me the heeby jeebies." The receptionist types our ID numbers into the computer to put us on the mission confirmation receipt, all the while loudly chewing her Stride gum like cud.

"Isn't Nevada a red state…?"

"We're post Bush blue-"

The twang of a think Jersey accent barges in. "Uh…yeah…I'm being told by Lord Death that this is a joint mission." The receptionist loudly pops her gum. "You'll be taking this mission on with another team who has been pre-assigned this."

God her blonde highlights look like a four year old did them. "Ok, who's the other team?" I question, trying hard not to imitate her awful Jersey accent.

The receptionist turns back to type a few more things into the computer. You know, that's really funny, because the note card would've said it was a two team mission.

The woman turns back, twirling a piece of hair around her manicured finger and says, "Death the Kid and the Thompson Sisters."

Oh.

"Can we choose another mission?"

"EMILY!"

"No, your names are already on the receipt. So, you leave at eight tomorrow morning. Got it? Have a nice day." The trailer trashy receptionist goes back to filing her cheap manicured fingers and smacking her gum loud enough for the entire school to hear.

Kenji is all too pleased with himself, because this mission will let him get nice and cozy with Liz Thompson.

I really don't want to spend my Saturday listening to ramblings about symmetry. Someone help me.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

I cranked this out early, since I've got new reviewers (Thank you anon, rinpup14, and as always, A Fury of Blue!)

With Christmas break coming up on Friday, I'll have more time to write this. Chapter five should be out before Santa comes. I'll also be recovering from wisdom tooth surgery so I'll have plenty of time to do nothing but write and eat food that isn't solid. Yay.

Cain Iscariot. What can I say about Cain Iscariot. His name is too well fitting, that's for one. I've based his character a lot on Billy Loomis, from _Scream._ And he's the antagonist. That's all the background I'll give you for now.

I've got a treat for you guys. I've drawn this story's OCs. Go to my profile to see!

And here's the playlist:

**Flickers by Son Lux**

**Talk Show Host by Radiohead**

**Fuck the People by The Kills**

**If I Had a Heart by Fever Ray**

**Tainted Love by Hannah Peel**

Reviews are lovely! Hopefully this doesn't bite!

Nicole


	5. Shackles

"_You wear guilt  
>Like shackles on your feet<br>Like a halo in reverse  
>I can feel<br>The discomfort in your seat  
>And in your head it's worse<em>**"**

**- Depeche Mode, 'Halo'**

* * *

><p><strong>Kid (DWMA garage, approx. 7:45 am)<strong>

As the son of Death incarnate and the heir to the title of Grim Reaper, I am quite used to having things simply given to me. More or less, I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, a perfect, clean, symmetrical spoon. Most would say I have my life set ahead of me, as I have nothing to strive for due to being born into such an envious position. I live in a pleasantly symmetrical mansion. I have Gareth Pugh on speed dial, as he tailors my suits and custom designs symmetrical fashions for me to wear. I could rent New Orleans for an entire day. Anything in the world can be mine with just a demand and a smile.

Yet, I feel as I have had to prove myself more than other people. Being the son of Lord Death means people expect things of you. I am expected to one day maintain the balance of the world. Inside, I find myself yearning for a relatively normal life. That is why I seek to make Liz and Patti into Death Scythes, why I began attending my honorable father's school, and why I make friends. Symmetry is where I've found an ability to gain control over my predetermined life. I need to prove myself the way I would if I were an average human.

Now that that spiel is out of the way, being who I am does have its perks.

Liz has called me a 'spoiled brat' on several different occasions. Although I disdain the claim, I do acknowledge it to be truthful in some ways. Thankfully, she and Patti are not here to remind me of this trait; I sent them out to buy donuts, as circles are symmetrical no matter what way you turn them. It also buys me time to talk to _her_ some more.

Emily Valentine is propped up against Lilith's tank, reading over the mission file in her delicate hands and pursing her plump red lips at every other word she reads. I thank my father for assigning me to keep an eye out on her, but I was not aware that it meant assisting her on missions as well. All the same, I am quite content. I can smell her perfume from here, a musky concoction of jasmine and sandalwood.

My interest in Emily has not diminished in the least, not even after she tarnished the symmetry of the school by littering her cigarette on the premises. Rather, my interest has only increased, and I have realized it is not because of my father's words. Emily Valentine is fascinating, inside and out. With her pouting red lips, thick red waves, and black lined cat eyes, she is the embodiment of a sixties femme fatale. Stunning and womanly, yes, but it is not her pleasurable looks and adequate symmetry that has me hooked. Instead, it is her soul that I have found to be of interest. Every time I have gazed into the deep confines of her body, I'm worried.

Her soul, while pleasantly symmetrical, is plagued by an aura of trouble. It is what others call a 'sick soul', one that is in conflict with itself. These souls can be found in the lonely, the depressed, and the mad. It is in my nature to balance the things I see in order to appease my beauty aesthetic. I want to help balance her soul out and give it back equilibrium. But by the way Emily is sipping at her iced coffee, nodding mindlessly at the things Kenji is yelling at her from inside the tank, it seems she hasn't a care in the world.

I walk over to her, tugging at my jacket and smoothing my hair in place. She glances up from the page she is engrossed in from under her dark curled lashes.

"I see my father finally introduced you to the tank." Damn. The tank was the only thing I could think of? An object that does breathe or think or talk or move like her or myself?

She shrugs inside her bomber jacket. "Yeah. Can't drive it yet though since I'm fifteen, so it's currently entrusted to Lord Butthead in there," She points her thumb to indicate Kenji, who is shuffling about loudly inside the tank tying to figure out what buttons and levers do what. "He failed his drivers test four times by the way."

I take a quick look around me. "I assume then that it will be yours when you turn sixteen?" I say as Emily takes another sip from her Deathbucks iced coffee, her lips wrapped around the dark green straw.

"Assuming I get my license on my birthday, sure, why not?" She set the mission files on the tank and begins playing with her drinking straw. "What about you, do you have permission to drive yet?"

Kenji shouts something about break levers that neither of us pay any heed to. "I actually turn sixteen on the thirty first..." I wrap my thumbs through my belt loops and drum my fingers against my legs to ease my anxiety. I have never had any difficulty talking to girls, as most of them do the fawning. Liz and Patti are more or less older siblings. Yet now I feel as if I'm talking to the number eight.

"So you were born on Halloween? Neat-o." I can't tell if she's impressed or if she's sarcastic. She goes back to sipping her coffee, which has now become nothing but brown ice in the plastic cup.

This girl makes me lose my composure without unbalancing anything, but with silent intimidation. Without anymore acknowledgement to my presence, she goes back to reading through the mission file and sipping away at her empty cup of Deathbucks. The conversation was pleasant while it lasted, I suppose.

While I am standing here awkwardly by myself, the sound of yelping and crashing and banging is heard as Liz and Patti come falling into the garage. They've tripped over Beelzebub and sent my breakfast donuts crashing to the oil sticky concrete floor! While it is certainly an excuse to rid the awkward tension of an ended conversation, my perfectly round donuts are nothing but unequal crescent moons and crumbs soaking in motor grease!

I suppose I have to increase our estimated time of departure by an hour.

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

There's something about the sensation of going so fast that the world around you turns watercolor runny that's so liberating and freeing.

Warning: I do not condone sitting on a tank's gun while it's going over seventy miles per hour with only a helmet and goggles as protection. I'm a trained professional. You should already know better than to look to me as a role model for anything. The last thing I need is for five year old kids to start lounging on top of speeding minivans like they're imitating Titanic.

I've restricted myself for so long that I forget what it feels like to cut loose. The sensations of hot Texan wind whipping through my hair and the sun beating at my skin sure feels a lot like what I remember of physical liberation, even if I can't remember what if feels like to liberate myself mentally.

Death the Kid is going all out on his flying skateboard like a total maniac. He's been doing these insane loops and spins for the past hour without a single falter in ability. I'd be impressed but I've already perfected balancing in heels on a tank gun while going at a high way speed. Again, I am not a role model ladies and gentlemen.

I've taken the last several hours of traveling time to prepare myself mentally for my first mission in about a month and a half. It's not like I forget how to do what is required of me, like how you don't forget how to read after two months of a bookless summer vacation. Things have changed, that's the problem. My motivations have shifted. It's like a chain of dominoes. The tiniest of movements can fuck a whole lot up.

I've been Kenji's meister ever since I was able to properly control my abilities. Since then, my life has been a giant prep course for everything the world expects of Lady Lilith's first female meister descendent. I became a ballerina to train my body for all the extensive cardio work required for slinging a six foot tall medieval axe around. Instead of _Goodnight Moon_, my parents read me text books about Soul Responses and Wavelengths before they tucked me into bed.

The old me grew up with that kind of stuff. She was made fearless and gutsy and too goddamn sure of herself. All it takes is for that one domino to fall down and then you've got an entirely different situation to deal with.

I see the black silhouette of a large building in the distance; Saint Sebastian's military hospital. And my God, the place is completely falling apart.

Now this little institution has always been the subject to some questions, at least, that's what the mission file said. You know the Great Witch Hunt of 1964? Well, its speculated all five hundred of those witches were brought here to dissect and experiment upon. It's also rumored that this was the place where they brought Nicaraguan Soul Cartels 'rehabilitate' if you get what I mean. The place closed down in 1998 and has since been left to rot away in the sun. As of last week, Lord Death's madness radar began picking up activity here, which of course, was strange since it was shut down ten years ago.

"EMILY! HANG ON TIGHT! I GOTTA STOP THIS THING!"

Kenji really should know better than to stick his head out of a moving vehicle he's supposed to be driving. Then again, I shouldn't be riding on the gun like a death wish.

I lie stomach down on the gun, wrapping my legs and arms around the barrel as Kenji breaks the tank to a slow stop. Good, he didn't floor the break pedal and send me flying into the crappy building. It's a five and a half foot drop from gun to ground, but I can land on two feet with ease. My hair is sticking to my scalp once I take the helmet and goggles off my head, all damp with sweat and dusted with sand I shake out with my hands.

"Ugh! This place is a disgrace! There's not a single line of symmetry! The roof is off by twenty degrees and all of the windows are shattered! How could my father think of sending me in to such a wreck!"

Jesus H. Christ, we haven't even been here a good ten seconds and Kid is already spewing out the obsessive compulsive rants as if he's been holding them in for hours. He walks over to my side, propping his skateboard against his hip with the Thompson sisters, in their weapon forms, resting at his sides. He's sneering at the poor old building's lack of symmetry as if it's a shit stain on the wall.

"So you're totally going to ignore the fact that this place looks like it's on the verge of collapsing?" The gun in his right hand twitches with the sound of Liz's voice. Poor girl, she's the only sane one on that team. She's more like Kid's handler than his weapon.

I hear Kenji walk up and over to my other side, tugging his collar at the oppressive heat. "It looks condemned. I don't think it's really safe to go in there."

"It isn't safe for teenagers to be playing with weapons and hunting down all sorts of creeps either." For a place that has only been vacant for about a decade, Saint Sebastian's looks like it's been unoccupied and uncared for for about a century. One end of the flat roof is caving in at a twenty degree angle. The bricked sides of the hospital have all these giant cracks running along them, a few so wide that you can make out some of the building's insides. The windows are all broken from the high desert winds. T o put it in other words, the Big Bad Wolf would have absolutely no problem huffing and puffing and blowing this brick failure down.

Oh wow, my head is starting to kill.

It's like someone just took the butt of a bat to the back of my skull and blew a heavy toxic wind in my face.

"Emily, what's wrong?" Kenji says, taking a hold of the backs of my shoulders as I double over at the sudden throbbing in the back of my head.

"It's nothing Kenji, just transform…" I swallow the throbbing down like a huge diet pill dry. My God my legs feel heavy standing back up.

I see Kid walk over to me from the corner of my eye. "I feel the madness wavelengths coming from the hospital too. Come on, let's go."

Madness wavelengths?

So this isn't just an anxiety migraine after all. This is a chemical reaction I have to grin and bear, my blood reawakening to the high pitched screams of insanity coming from the shattered windows and the cracked walls.

I quickly recollect myself as Kenji's axe form fills the emptiness in my hand. My heartbeat is slowing down in my chest, which is tightening every step I take closer to Saint Sebastian's.

I should really avoid hospitals from now on. Military. Mental. Clinics. Emergency rooms. I ought to treat them like the plague. They make my blood boil inside my veins because there is so much pain and suffering confined in their walls.

The inside of the building is just as bit a wreck as the outside. The floor is littered with broken glass and wind swept sand. There are abandoned wheelchairs and stretchers crowding the halls. It's a fucking dump. There's something here, some physical presence that is certainly not human and not pleased, else I wouldn't have this blood changing headache right now. It knows we're here and it doesn't like it, if the sharp daggering beating down my back bone is any indication. It's not talking to me but I know what it wants from me.

My head is starting to swim. Something is breaking through the wall of resistance I've built up inside of me. She's waking up.

Kid, who Liz and Patti have frequently been pushing along from attempting to tidy this dump up (He even brought a little brush and sweep pan for God's sake), begins observing the twitches in my face. I don't want him to look at me like that. I don't want him to look at me like I'm suffering from being crazy like all the others. Go away.

"We should split up. This place is too big for us to look through all together at once," I really just need an excuse to get Kid to stop eying me as if I'm about to start puking up blood all over his nice suit. He's surely noticed that I'm using Kenji as a walking stick. "You take the left wing and I'll take the right wing." The headache is getting worse, like 'bursting out of my skull' worse.

He nods apprehensively and without a word goes off down the hall leading to the left wing, shuddering at its continually messy appearance.

Now this is the part where the heroine runs off and find what she's looking for. This is the part where I run off and find what I've been trying to avoid.

The right wing is mostly patient rooms, doors ajar and filled with all too familiar broken beeping machines and IV drips. It smells like stale piss and dried up blood. It smells like people giving up. But there's an even worse smell underlying that one, intertwined with the insane wavelengths wrapped around my heart. It's the smell of freshly dying flesh and sacrilege.

"Emily, your wavelengths are shaking. What's wrong with you?"

Is it that obvious Kenji? You're trying so hard to latch on to something that's stretched so taut that it could break with a single finger of pressure.

"I'm fine! I'm just fine." Lies. I'm in mental agony. It's pumping through my blood and filtering through my mind. It's tap dancing alone the nooks of my spine and speeding along my nerves.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice something move down a hall about ten feet away on the right. I was right. We're not alone here.

I grip Kenji's handle tight, much to his chagrin since it's pretty much his torso I'm squeezing, and go running off down the hallway after the phantom presence. Kenji's starting to freak out because I'm not listening to a single word he's saying. He's nothing but background chatter in the sea of white noise on blast in my ears.

With every single stride I feel the pressure on my psyche, my oh-so-fragile psyche that's got a band-aid to cover its gaping wound. Glass crack under my heels and that evil stench is so strong I have to breathe through the filter of my fingers to stop tasting it.

I'm not following a yellow brick road. I'm following a road paved with stitched together guts and hallucinations.

I stop at a one way mirror, displaying the inside of an operating room where numerous horrors have been performed. The stench is coming from here, that ungodly stench that could revive the dead because of how strong it is.

This is the room nobody in a horror movie should ever step foot into unless they want a machete lodged into their back. But the whispers in my brain are just too enticing. I have to go in. It's familiar, it's sickly familiar, the presence I feel coming from the\is room. I don't know what the hell Kenji is saying to me, but it isn't good.

The first step I take into the room comes with a whooshing feeling that nearly knocks me off of my feet.

Holy shit, someone has been in here within the last week.

There are recently bloodied towels on the floor and freshly used surgical instruments in the tray by the operating table that's rusting away. Something is rotting in the corner, some black mass of dead flesh and hair that might have once been living. I want to vomit. It's awful.

"_What, you really thought you could suppress me through sheer willpower honey?"_

It's her. It's me. It's the both of us. Her sickening voice, like the screams of a child going through a meat grinder, is back in my spine.

Kenji is screaming at me. My face is pale and as I turn around to look out the window. It isn't a window. It's a one way mirror. I'm looking into its reflective side. She's looking back at me.

_She _is me. She's my doppelganger. But her teeth are razor sharp and her skin is translucent, displaying the veins engorged with the black blood her black heart is pumping through her body. She always smiles, even when she isn't smiling, because a knife gave her a permanent grin up to her ears that continues to bleed freshly down her face and neck. She may be talking to me through me reflection, but I can assure you, every single part of her is physical, living flesh.

Where the hell is my voice? My head hasn't hurt this bad since I went digging for the black blood in my arms, only succeeding in smearing my red blood all over the walls and getting myself committed.

"_What? Not going to even say hello? I really thought you missed me."_

I didn't miss you.

"_You always end getting yourself into trouble sweetie. We wouldn't be having this nice little talk if you weren't somewhere you shouldn't be."_

So there's no formality to your pleasant visits huh?

"_I'm always going to be a part of you. These lovely wavelengths just give me a rope to pull myself up on."_

What the hell is this? A surprise party?

"_You know perfectly well what you've just walked into you stupid bitch. The smell and the madness. Don't tell me you've already shoved it into your unconscious! Your old crew was doing some business here, mostly more of the Frankenstein shit with that book. They miss you dearly. And they miss Lucy too."_

Where the hell are they?

"_Oh please, like I'm going to tell you that. I only talk to you to maintain the puppet strings they've attached to you. You're still their little doll Emily. You're still Cain's."_

I'm not a doll. I don't belong to them, to him, or to you.

"_Uh huh, keep telling yourself that, whatever makes you sleep at night. Blood is a real bitch to wash off though, isn't it? Black blood is especially a pain in the ass to clean, especially when your boy toy has been running it through his chemistry set and that book."_

What the fuck died in here? What did they do?

"_See that thing in the corner? That's the prototype for my protectors. He's got a new recruit who's helping him pick up where Medusa Gorgon left off. Noah didn't find the first creation worthy of collecting, so he ditched it and started anew with. It makes a great home for flies and maggots now. They're building up that funny army they talked about, one prostitute and drifter at a time. Wanna see the final result?"_

"EMILY SNAP OUT OF IT!"

My doppelganger shattered into a million little pieces as the final result burst through the glass. A hard punch to the face sends me hurling to the other side of the room, the iron taste of blood filling my mouth.

"EMILY GET UP!"

Son of a goddamn bitch, they really are creating an army of monsters.

I hate clowns. I mean I _really_ fucking hate clowns. This sure isn't helping to ease any of the hatred I feel towards them, especially when one just hooked me right in the face.

The thing is a twisted perversion of a child's circus, a humanoid clown with gangly, graying limbs encircled in animal pelt piping. Its right arm morphed into a pinstriped horn, the tip stinger sharp like a scorpion's. A floppy jester hat hung atop his alien head, putrid and stinking of old bodily fluids. But the most horrifying feature has to be its mouth, a cavern filled with razor sharp teeth dribbling foul saliva from its lips.

I spit the blood out of my mouth, not taking the time to check and see whether it's red or black. It's growling at me. It wants to tear me apart limb by limp. It wants to gut me and hang my intestines like party decorations, honking away as it does so.

"**.htoot a rof htoot A .eye na rof eye nA**"

Well, apparently this one is verbally brain dead.

Through the red hot feeling of my aggravated blood beating away under my skin, I pull myself up and off the ground, the walls creaking around me. I can't use Kenji to hack away at this piece of crap unless I want the whole building to collapse. One wrong move and it's good night nurse. My only option is to get out of the room and to a place where I'm not in danger of being buried alive. That's going to be tough, since the monster is blocking the exit.

"Emily…"

"**.raef gniknits ruoy llems nac I**"

If there is one thing I'm really good at, it's quick thinking. Despite the throbbing in my head and the burning sensation traveling down my spine, I can still put two and two together.

The operating table is right in front of me. You wanna play games? Well, how about bowling Krusty?

So I give a swift kick to the table. It rolls forward, knocking the thing down like a candlepin. I jump through the cleared space and out the door, the building shaking around me as I run down the hall.

"We have to get out of here or this whole building is going to cave in on us!" Kenji says, twitching in my hand.

"**?namuh neht emag a yalp ot tnaw uoY**"

I hear the clown's powerful stomps behind me as it howls in its incomprehensible language. Clowns don't like bowling I guess. I hook a quick right turn down another hallway.

"What do you think I'm doing!" Wheelchairs and stretchers are being thrown in my direction. When did this turn into Mario Kart? "I already got punched in the jaw! I'm not getting crushed to death today too!" I slide into a left turn and find myself back in the main hall.

"**!senitsetni ruoy htiw epor pmuj yalp nac I os ereh kcab teG**"

"Emily! Kenji! What the hell is going on?"

It's Kid, his guns cocked and ready to shoot as he runs out of the left wing.

"No time, this whole place is about to fall apart, we're leaving, NOW!" I grab him by the wrist and start off in a run as the right wing hall way explodes in a cloud of dust, the clown emerging from the wreckage in a spider crawl.

"**.nac uoy sa tsaf sa ,nur ,nuR**"

Kid turns around at the sound of the voice, his face dropping in shock. He's trying so hard to say something, but his tongue is stuck on the first consonant. I think he's about to have another stroke because of the clown's horrible lack of symmetry. God, if he passes out on me right now…

Well, if you want to get a job done, have a woman do it.

I use Kenji to knock things down that will slow down the beast chasing after us: file cabinets, chairs, IV stands, walkers, anything large that can slow the clown down. But he just throws the diversions out of his way like toys. "**!niaga yalp s'tel ,net ,eniN .eta I luos ruoy s'ti ,thgie ,neveS .skcirt fo gab a tog ev'I ,xis ,eviF .roolf eht tih annog er'uoy ,ruof ,eerhT .uoy teg annog s'nwolc eht ,owt ,enO**"

Saint Sebastian's is falling apart around us. Ceiling tiles are raining down from overhead, cracks are widening in the walls, and the foundation is shaking under our running feet. The clown keeps hurling shit at us, and it takes really quick psychical coordination to keep from running right into all the crap the's tossing in our path.

The exit is just up ahead, so close yet so far away. But the clown is gaining speed, getting closer and closer in its pursuit. It's an all too familiar feeling to be running from an enemy in a building that's about to crumble to the ground. It isn't Death the Kid who is running at my side. It's Lucy. Any second now that shot is going to ring out and blood will splatter all over my bruised face. Then before the trigger is pulled once more to lodge a bullet through my heart, the ceiling will collapse and the enemy will make his glorious escape. Three bodies will be pulled from the fire, three charred bodies, but they don't belong to them.

This is the worst moment of my life all over again.

Suddenly, the clown screeches.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY!" I'm suddenly jerked to the other side of the hall, arms wrapped around my waist and held tightly to Kid's chest.

A horned arm grazes my upper thigh, shredding through my shorts and tights as we go hurdling to the other side of the hall. Had Kid not have grabbed me, the clown would have pinned me to the wall through my stomach like an insect. The skin is split, puckering open as it oozes red, not black, blood onto the floor.

The clown drudges forward, growling upon realizing he failed to stab me through the torso. As I pull myself back up to a standing position, Kenji held tight in my hands ready for close range combat, the clown hunches over to glare in my face. His putrid smelling breath blows hot in my face, smelling like a sea of rotting flesh.

"**.etanracnI ssendaM ma I .arusA nihsiK ssessaprus hcihw ecnatsixe eht ma I .nees eb nac taht rorret a ma I**"

Again, I am blessed with quick thinking.

I swing Kenji into the clown's chest, which begins to spurt black blood in fountains when I pull his spear out from the mangled flesh. It howls at the pain as I limp back over to Kid, pulling him up by the arm to the exit.

"Shoot the ceiling down! We can get the whole building to collapse on this thing!"

"You want me to what-"

"Just do it!"

"My father will not be happy I've destroyed property again!"

I dive towards the main entrance as the gun shots ring out, Kid running close behind. The sounds I hear are just as telling as if I look back and see the entire hospital collapse on the hideous creature. The clown lets out a horrific sounding screech as he's crushed underneath brick and concrete, sounding like a thousand rusty nails dragging across a thousand black boards.

I refuse to turn around and see anymore destruction. I already know what sheer destruction looks like. It's SIN, engulfed in flames that lick the sky, crumbling to its foundation as you're carried away screaming into an ambulance because your friend just won't wake up. Maybe I just bring a plague of destruction with me wherever I go?

I stop running as I reach the tank, shielding my eyes and mouth from the giant dust cloud blowing out from the imploded wreckage. The screaming of the clown is gone. I no longer hear glass breaking or bricks smashing. All I can hear is the sound of my breath. The madness in Saint Sebastian's is buried under thousands of pounds of rubble, no longer screeching or pulling at my wavelengths like marionette strings. Something held me back this time, something was here to keep me from drowning. I should have gone mad, but I suppressed it. I, the weak one, I wasn't consumed like all those times before.

Although I am breathing, I'm holding something in that needs release.

I close my eyes and let go.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

Damn, where do I begin?

With the disgusting asymmetrical state of motel rooms with their cheaply patterned curtains and sheets? Never mind the fact that this room is probably coated carpet to ceiling with splotches of human DNA.

Or should I start with having to deal with another clown? After bypassing the demons protecting the last demon tool, I came to the conclusion to avoid every circus and parade for fear of reopening the traumatizing wound of experience. But no, apparently those two consummated together to produce a brain dead offspring before I blew their brains out.

No.

I shall begin with what it lying on the bed, unconscious and corrupted both physically and mentally. The swelling in her left cheek won't lessen, though I've been icing it continuously for an hour. The gash in her leg where the clown's horned arm had cut through denim and nylon I treated with rubbing alcohol and gauze. For your information, I would never remove a girl's clothing without her consent, but seeing as she is unconscious and in need of first aid treatment, an exception had to be made.

Emily Valentine fainted after Saint Sebastian's Military Hospital came crashing down to the ground. One cheek was swelled with a bruise. One thigh was cut and bleeding. Her symmetry was corrupted by that fiend, and to see the building implode on the creature was justice, although I have once again destroyed another building on a mission. When I turned to Emily to comment on looking for the clown's soul buried underneath all the wreckage, she keeled over onto the sand with an audible thud.

Kenji didn't have the strength to carry her. His head hurt from being hurled through thick clown armor. And as I carried her, I worried.

There was fear in her eyes today. I saw a fear with familiarity shining through. There was no 'devil may care' façade to hide herself behind. Her face contorted into expressions of dread, rage, self hatred, and horror. But I sensed a feeling of experience emanating from her, as if she were reenacting a moment suspended in time. Something inside that hospital struck a nerve, as her soul was shaking when I looked into it.

Yet what disturbed me the most was what soul perception alerted me to. Now, my soul perception abilities may not be as accurate as Maka's, even if most of my abilities as a Grim Reaper far surpass those of humans. But as we entered the hospital, my soul perception picked up on something rather…peculiar. To reiterate, I have already come to the conclusion that Emily has a troubled soul, one that is in conflict with itself. This characteristic is easy to spot for even those with novice ability in soul perception.

I detected another presence in Emily's soul. Rather, there were two presences occupying the same soul. One of course, was hers. The other, was…indistinguishable. While I could not make the other presence out enough to describe, I can say, there was something sinister and mad about it. It appeared to be feeding off Emily's presence, like two fetuses fighting for dominance in the womb.

The only comparison I can come up with is that of Chrona and Ragnarok, as they are two souls inhabiting the same body in the manner of a host and a parasite. However, their souls are two distinctive entities. From what I could distinguish, there was something invading Emily's soul in the hospital that was latching onto her from another source. Had it not been for the presence of Kenji's soul however, it seemed more than likely that the 'something' would have succeeded in fully consuming her.

I must be wrong though. Surely, there's never been something like this before because it's impossible. I say this now because my soul perception is reading her soul as a singular entity as I sit here on the end of the bed.

Something is surely wrong with me. All the asymmetry today is putting my mind under a substantial amount of stress. I've only succeeded in developing enough anxiety to fool myself with bizarre hallucinations. Right. Back to sewing the hole in these jean shorts then.

"Ugh."

I nearly stab my finger with the sewing needle at the sound. I really do need to control my anxiety if the smallest of sounds puts me in danger of drawing blood.

The bed shifts with movement, its occupant moving to sit up. I place the half sown shorts at my side and turn to the awaken occupant. Emily runs one hand through her red strands, the other caressing the swollen bruise on her left cheek.

"Oh hell, what happened now?" She says, wincing as her fingers press against the black and blue flesh of her face.

I slide up the bed and move Emily's hand away from her cheek. "Stop, you'll only make it worse." It's damaged enough already, she certainly does not need to inflict further damage by poking at it.

Her hand drops to her lap and she stares at me with those new penny eyes, glazed over from the unconscious. She is subtly demanding an explanation for the sudden change in scenery and the time lapse.

"You passed out after the building collapsed," I look back to my lap for any hint of a cue. "You've been unconscious for two hours."

She dramatically drops her face into the palms of her hands, releasing a frustrated groan that comes out muffled through her fingers. "You have got to be joking…"

"Sadly, no."

Emily's hands slide back down her face, pulling the skin with her finger tips so I can see the innards of her eye sockets for a moment. "Where's Kenji?"

I shift uncomfortably and grip my knees. "He's with Liz and Patti. They've gone out for dinner."

Suddenly, Emily is sliding out from under the bed covers. "Where's my phone? I'm calling him right n-"

Her eyes drop down to look at what isn't there. My face heats up with blood. I am very pleased to say that she chose to wear fashionably symmetrical lace underpants today. Not that I was looking at them when I had to take off her shorts and tights! I could not administer first aid with ripped denim and nylon in the way! Not to mention the holes ruined the balance!

In a flash she's jumping back behind the protection of the bed sheets and crouching up against the backboard. "Why…the hell…am I in my underwear!"

Her tone suggests I answer in ten seconds or less. "The clown cut you back in the hospital and you certainly can't bleed everywhere! And I can't sew your shorts while you're still wearing them!" I pick the pair of acid wash mini denim up as evidence, my finger poking through the half sewn hole.

I believe that came out in under eight seconds.

Emily pulls the bed sheets up to her chest. "Bleed everywhere…?" She lifts the covers up and glances down at her leg, seeing the bandaged gauze I had placed over her injury. Her previously murderous countenance dissolves into something indescribable, although it softens the edges of her face and the fury in her eyes. She looks up at me, then back underneath the sheets with her red lips parted.

"So you did this?" She slides back down into the bed, her voice soft.

"I have to maintain your symmetry, so yes, I did," I place her shorts back onto my knees. "I was just in the middle of sewing these when you woke up."

"Oh."

Another moment of silence builds up a wall between us. Emily and I have yet to engage in a fulfilling conversation that avoids sarcasm, distraction, or one-sidedness. It's a nagging feeling I have in my chest when she's near. Crooked picture frames and candles burning lopsided produce this same kind of anxiety. It's an issue of balance when it comes to this girl. After today's events, the balance is in jeopardy. The unanswered questions are out weighing the things I know, and that simply will not do.

"Emily, what happened back at Saint Sebastian's?"

She begins caressing her hands together in a nervous habit. "You were there too. You tell me." There's no bite to her voice anymore. The words come out sounding withered and overtired.

I have no time for lackluster sarcasm and unanswered inquiries. I slide up next to Emily, who has begun hiding herself behind the blanket of red hair. She doesn't flinch when I lean in close enough to feel the warmth wafting off of her skin. "You looked like you saw a ghost."

She's gone stiff. I can almost here the sound of blood draining from her face. I've struck the nerve that she won't leave unattended to. Her fingers brush the blanket of hair out of her face, tucking it back behind her shoulders. "It was just overwhelming, that's all."

If there weren't so many strikes against her, I would be more prone to believe her. But it comes down to what I thought I saw. While I am having a hard time believing it myself, I have every reason to assume that there is something suspicious starting to unravel.

"Who got that thing's soul, anyways?"

She's trying to change the subject nonchalantly. When I looked into her eyes back in the hospital, I saw the same familiarity with our opponent as I had experienced. Calling it 'that thing' to indicate otherwise was not fooling me.

"Well, seeing as 'the thing' wasn't necessarily an 'evil human', I have it in my possession to relinquish to my father. He shall take care of it." I turn my head to look at her. For the moment, she is not hiding behind any type of mask. I am seeing the first real glimpse of just who Emily Valentine really is. She's a beautiful, strong, but deeply flawed young woman. From under her thick lashes, her eyes are carrying the weight of self regret and doubt. There is no hardness, no rebellion, no eccentricity. Rather, I see a melancholy I can fit securely to my own and the failure to live up to the expectations of others.

We are more alike than I would have guessed.

"Something happened back there, didn't it? You don't have to fight it alone."

Her shoulders flinch as if my words pricked her finger. When she finally looks towards me, her eyes tell me what her pride would never allow her to say. _I can't do it._

This is the moment where everything will emerge from the darkness. A silent agreement has been made and now begins the great reveal.

"HEY KID! WE GOT PIZZA! PIZZA KID! OPEN UP!"

And the moment has been ruined by Patti's insatiable appetite.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

My God this chapter was a total pain in the ass to get through, I suck at writing action sequences. I had my wisdom teeth out on Friday so I've been struggling to get this written while nursing my face, which has swollen to twice its size. At some point in this chapter, I just gave up and started focusing on getting it done. It's probably got a ton of grammatical errors but I'll freak out about that later. I hate the way I ended this chapter by the way.

I know this clown seemed to easy to defeat, but there's a reason behind that. Again, I also suck at action sequences. We'll see more of Emily and Kenji's abilities in upcoming chapters.

The next chapter may contain the first real M rated content, depending on whether or not I deem it appropriately placed, as it is still pretty early in the story.

Playlist:

**Halo by Depeche Mode**

**Born Free by M.I.A.**

**Immigrant Song (feat. Karen O) by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross**

**Firestarter by The Prodigy**

**Banquet by Bloc Party**

**Cruel Mistress by Clint Mansell (From Black Swan)**

Review guys! I do this for free you know. Not to mention my jaw hurts like hell.

- Nicole


	6. Starts So Slow

"_You can holler, you can wail  
>You can swing, you can flail<br>You can fuck like a broken sail  
>But I'll never give you up<br>If I ever give you up my heart will surely fail_

_And after all God can keep my soul_  
><em>England have my bones<em>  
><em>But don't ever give me up<em>  
><em>I could never get back up when the future starts so slow<em>"

**- The Kills, 'Future Starts Slow'**

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

I was sitting alone with myself on the white sands of the beach. It was one of those days where the air was humid and the wind was cool, where it was seconds away from a downpour. The ocean waves crashed to the shore near where I sat observing the endless sea. There was no sound aside from my own breathing and the water ebbing and receding.

Suddenly, a ring formed in the ocean. It bubbled crowns of white as the water parted.

Red hair began to surface. And as the ocean parting came closer to the shoreline, little by little the figure under the ocean was revealed: A face, shoulders, bare breasts, smooth stomach, rounded hips, and legs enshrouded by lavender silk. It was a scene out of a Botticelli painting, the birth of a sea siren. Such symmetry. Such balance. Such beauty.

As the siren stepped onto the white shore, my breath caught itself in my throat. She was not some anonymous dream woman created by my aesthetic. It was Emily Valentine, topless and walking towards me with blinding fierceness.

She didn't speak a word when she situated herself on my legs. All she did was hum a sigh as she placed my head between her supple breasts. A feeling like none I've ever experienced came over me as I breathed in her sea sweet skin. It was a powerful mix of possession and lust, and I growled at the back of my throat when I grasped her hips in my hands. Her lips were hot and soft when they enclosed around my mouth for a passionate kiss.

My once idle fingers began busying themselves kneading the flesh of her hips, teasing at the wrappings of the silk resting just above her thighs.

The waves loudly crashed around us. The sea water began to ebb past our bodies. The silken skirt came undone in my fingers and dropped to the sand.

This is where I woke up beyond flustered to the sticky feeling in my undershorts, which is a feeling that I can assure you is more than uncomfortable. Along with disgust, I felt confused, disappointed, and discontent. As I stood washing my soiled bed sheets and undergarments in the wash room, a barrage of questions for these feelings surfaced. Apparently these feelings for Emily can be classified as something if I am dreaming about her in such a manner. It really is no surprise in hindsight, as she has been flittering through my head since day one. My subconscious was able to recreate the sensation of the soft skin of her leg against my hand as I applied the gauze and ointment to the slashed flesh of her thigh. I admit I had to bite my lip when I thought about it, wondering how it would feel in a fairly different scenario. I prayed Liz or, hell forbid, Patti wouldn't wake up to investigate the sound of running water and find me, sans pants and hand washing my sheets. They would never let me live it down!

And now, as I am trying to fall back to sleep on clean sheets and in clean boxers, my mindset had changed once again. This newfound interest in Emily Valentine goes beyond just infatuation, but intrigue. It is the mystery about her that draws me in, and the questions continue to pile up. We never had the chance to continue our one on one conversation after Patti so rudely interrupted with greasy pizza. But since then, I have come to several conclusions.

One: Emily Valentine's soul has a peculiar anomaly that requires further investigation.

Two: There was something in Saint Sebastian's that Emily was familiar with, and it frightened her.

Three: Emily is somehow involved in with the SIN Tech fire.

Four: I believe I have developed certain feelings for her.

The only question now is how to resolve these issues requiring a balancing resolution.

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

"Have you been taking the medication?"

The hole I poked in the sofa last week has been sewn up. Bummer, I was really looking forward to shooting the breeze with Stein whilst picking stuffing out of his arm chair.

And for further reference, 'therapy' is just a nice word for 'interrogation'.

"Yeah, they make me drowsy though," I continue to pick at the stitch with my fingernail. "I also don't see the point to them. I'm sad, not depressed. And I'm certainly not crazy." If it weren't for Kenji's watchful eye, I'd be flushing all those pills down the toilet. He always sets them out next to my morning coffee like a friendly reminder of what my life has become: caffeine and antidepressants.

Stein writes something down in his notepad, his hand bringing the burning cigarette to his mouth for another hit. I know he knows I stole his pack last week, but he isn't going to call me out on it. He thinks the silent threat that he's going to get me back for it is enough to make me squirm. It's not going to work. The man is too loony to take seriously at all. For example, today in class he went on about how taxidermy is a good alternative to embalming your dead body. We were on the topic of wavelength structures and all of a sudden that gem popped out.

Stein exhales in a cloud of nicotine that's really making my mouth water with craving. "You've been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. Would you disagree with that being a form of depression?"

I rest my chin in my hand. "No."

Post-traumatic stress disorder is just fancy jargon for what you're supposed to feel after something shitty happens to you. Disorders are supposed to be anomalies. Shitty things happen to people all the time and they get sad because of it. Little Sally's new kitten was eaten by a wild coyote. Jimmy Jr walked in on his parents screwing. Mike caught his fiancé giving the UPS guy a hummer. Lily's four months pregnant and now the toilet bowl is full of a bloody mess.

The truth is, everyone is miserable one way or another. I just don't beat around the bush. I can grin and bear it for some of the higher ups, but for the most part I'll remain apathetic thank you very much. I'm not going to bullshit anyone.

Stein leans forward in his swivel chair. Oh God, the rant I could go on about that stupid chair. "Emily, are you familiar with 'troubled' or 'sick' souls?"

Man that cigarette is like a hot fudge sundae to me right now. "Yeah, they're souls that are put under unbearable amounts of stress. They're prone to madness as well."

I'm not stupid. I know what state my soul is in. You really think I wouldn't know how much damage I've suffered? Souls are like bones, you can feel them when they're broken. Before this whole mess began, my soul was a pretty rose color, blown up with trust and confidence. Then it was deflated by the needle of crap and since then it's been a real bitch.

I also happen to know there's something in my soul that certainly should not be there. It hides itself pretty well under normal circumstances. Nobody with soul perception would be able to pick it up without the right conditions. But even then you'd have to do a double take and ask yourself if you're seeing things.

Stein sticks his cigarette back between his lips and leans back. "You've got one of those souls. And given what you've been through within the last six months, you don't look surprised by this either."

Yup, I'm not.

"The effects tend to be different in each case. Some souls are able to contain their illness, as it never does fully go away. Other souls, however, are consumed by misery and die." Stein's eyes darken when he says this, and I'm not surprised. There's nothing sadder in the world than a dead soul in a living body. It's like being brain dead, but the body can still move about and maintain its basic needs such as eating and breathing. However, all personality is lost. You have no memories, no voice, no feelings, and no intelligence. You're a shell of yourself, a zombie, a robot. There were many of these cases back in the hospital. The doctors would wheel them down the hall and they would have this blank expression in their eyes. They weren't looking at anything. They would just stare at nothingness.

I can't take it anymore. "Can I have a cigarette?"

Stein cocks an eyebrow at me. Hey, at least I've asked this time.

He reaches into his lab coat pocket and pulls out his pack of Marlboro's and a lighter, obviously not wanting to but knowing there's going to be no bargaining with me. Filter to the lips, spark of the lighter, and sweet relief. I used to think cigarettes were nasty as hell, and they are. The thing with bad habits is that we need them to hold onto what little sanity we can. Just look at Stein. The guy's a lunatic and his ashtray is overflowing with dirty butts.

I breathe the smoke out. "So, you were saying…?"

Stein puts the Marlboros and lighter back into his pocket. "You see, your partnership with your cousin, Kenji, is allowing you some amount of resistance to the side effects of your soul's condition," And there he goes again, cranking the big ass bolt in his head. I really want to ask him if it's just for show or if he had some freak accident nobody likes to talk about. "Some souls have madness resisting wavelengths, which are able to filter in to their partner given their souls are on equilibrium with each other. Think of you and Kenji as ying and yang. You each makeup for what the other's soul lacks. However, too long and under too much stress or madness, this resistance becomes worthless and you will go into psychosis."

I don't have to look into a mirror to know I look pretty sour right now. "So what, without Kenji I'm in danger of going complete nuts?" I nearly bit the filter off between my teeth.

"Maybe. But looking at your records, there are some things that just don't add up," He pulls a manila folder out of his desk drawer. I know that stupid folder. It's got my name written on it in Sharpie. _Emily Lilith Valentine 11/20/92_. It's my psychological record. Every meister and weapon has one, as mental records are excessively important in soul hunting due to the threat of madness and the overall 'what can be seen cannot be unseen' factor. Each person who works under Lord Death has two mental records, one physical folder and one digital computer folder. Most contain general psychological exams to test competence in the field. There are also personality tests and self examinations. But for those of us whose track records are less than stable, our folders are thicker. In my case, I've got a month's worth of doctor observations.

Stein starts flipping through my folder and pulls out a bunch of stapled papers from the pile. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose as her quickly scans over all the hand written notes, which I'm sure he's poured over dozens of times already.

"Emily, you claimed to be infected with black blood. On multiple occasions nurses found you screaming at yourself. When they asked who you were talking to you said it was your 'doppelganger'. One day you punched an orderly and then stated to have no memory of the incident," Stein places the papers back in his lap. "And then there was the occurrence in the bathroom at your Boston flat."

I wince. Second to my best friend being shot right in front of me, _that_ was the worst moment of my life. It sure doesn't help in my argument that I'm not crazy, because I did only what coked out wrecks and serious schizophrenics do. I believe I may have mentioned it before. I was trying to find that black blood in my veins. I scratched and scratched and scratched until my arms bleed. Kenji was beating at the bathroom door. Then I punched out the mirror. At the sound of glass shattering Kenji kicked down the door to find the mess I had made of both our bathroom and myself. And that's the story of how I was committed in a short and sweet overview, thank you for listening. Please walk, not run, to your nearest theater exit.

"While you appear to be doing fine now, I must ask. Emily, is there something you're not telling me?"

In the literal sense, no, because I was shouting it at anyone who would listen for weeks. But I might as well have been saying I had eaten my own arm off. Secrets don't make friends after all. What they do make is plenty of alone time.

This cigarette is burning too quickly. I can already feel the burn on my knuckles. "No."

Maybe I should pick up binge drinking to my growing list of bad habits.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

My library at home is truly nothing compared to the one my father has built within the DWMA. In fact, it is one of the world's most complete libraries. It contains original manuscripts of Shakespeare's tragedies, extensive archives, and the world's most complete collection of nonfiction analyzing the science of symmetry, which I had a role in attaining of course.

However, though I do love rereading _Ancient Symmetry_, it is investigation I have come here for. While I could surely conduct most of this research within the comfort of Gallow's Manor on my own laptop, libraries give a certain complete formality to the job. This library did not fail me when I investigated Eibon a few months back. It certainly would be hard for it to fail me in a little background check.

I have decided to start my investigation with a simple internet search. I have plenty of time to sort through the history archives, given that they are still in the order they were arranged in. I swear, if one book is out of place I will make sure the entire library staff is terminated.

I begin with a web search of 'Emily Valentine Lady Lilith Kiddo'. While the latter name may not have been exactly necessary, it will probably eliminate any lonely housewives in Virginia who won the blue ribbon at the county fair for best apple pie.

My fingers tap along the desk as I scroll down the results page:

**Lady Lilith Kiddo – Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia**

**Great Female Meisters of the 20th Century**

**Meister Heiress Dazzles As Prima Ballerina in _Sleeping Beauty_**

I click on the third link, which brings me to a news article from The Boston Death Journal, dated February 2005. Emily did mention being a ballerina at some point. However, I never assumed it to be anything more than an afterschool activity.

At the top of the article is a picture of a preteen Emily Valentine, smaller and less curvaceous than her teenaged counterpart, in mid pirouette on stage. Only twelve and starring in a professional ballet production? This girl certainly is special. However, this is not the type of information I am looking for. I skim through the article for the sake of knowledge before hitting the back button.

This time, I add 'SIN Technical School' to the search engine bar.

**Lady Lilith's Heirs Attend SIN Anniversary Party in Style**

Another news article, but from this past March. There are multiple photographs along the article's edges, each featuring Emily, wearing such a lovely black bandage dress, and Kenji.

_Emily Valentine (15) and Kenji Keechi (15) celebrate the memory of their great great grandmother's legacy. _

She's smiling and she's happy as she lifts her drink, her arm draped around Kenji's neck and hugging him close to her hair. The party that surrounds them appears to be lively, if the people in mid-dance and their smiles are any indication.

The next picture I see is of Emily and a smaller, short blonde haired girl. By the way the two are hugging each other with pleasant grins graced across their faces, it would appear the two are friends. In the background, and to my everlasting annoyance, a young man with long brown hair and a septum ring took the chance to ruin the otherwise perfect picture with a face that can only be described as 'constipated'.

_Emily Valentine with friends and fellow students Lucy Wallace (15) and Thurston Moore (16)._

It is hard to imagine the lives of the people you know before you met them. While this is what I am investigating in the first place, it is strange to see Emily with a countenance of enjoyment. She isn't unreadable or difficult to translate. There is a light in her eyes I have never seen before.

Moving on, I look at the third picture. This one has no caption.

It does not need one. This photograph is enough to make my stomach toss and turn along my insides.

There she is, happy and smiling, whispering in the ear of another young man, her hand enclosed with his in a manner a step above 'friendship'. He would have an easy time fitting in with a fifties street gang with his juvenile delinquent looks and smug expression. This is what I wanted, a puzzle piece of her past to complete a picture, right? Jealousy is an emotion I have never given much care for, due to its pettiness and low class. However, I can now say I understand its power, as my heart is currently burning with it. Emily never seems to give me the time of day. While I am used to receiving the things I want a majority of the time, whether handed to me or gained myself, absolute 'no's are seldom used.

I do not intend to come across as possessive, as she is not an object by any means! What I am trying to state is that she could have done much better…with someone else…yes…right.

I've had enough of this webpage.

Now I only need to add 'fire' to the search engine bar and press enter.

**SIN Technical School Fire: Kiddo's Successor in Shock and Fellow Student in Critical Condition, Three John Does Recovered.**

I was correct, she does have something more to do with this than believed.

_August 25, 2008_

_SIN Technical School (Shibusen International Network), founded by the first female meister to create Death Scythes directly under Lord Death, Lady Lilith Kiddo, has burnt down in a suspected cases of arson. The school, opened in 1918, served as one of Shibusen Death Weapon Meister Academy's top branches in the world and, having just celebrated its 90th anniversary this past March, was already engulfed in flames by the time firefighters and authorities received emergency calls. _

_When authorities arrived on the scene, they discovered Kiddo's female inheritor Emily Valentine and SIN student Lucy Wallace outside the building. The two were taken to Mass General Hospital, where Wallace fell into a coma following injuries suffered from the fire. According to eyewitnesses, Valentine dragged Wallace out of the building. When medical personnel finally came, Valentine reportedly erupted into hysterics and was admitted to Mass General on account of minor injuries and shock. _

_Though firefighters were able to put the fire out, SIN was completely destroyed. Later that night in a salvage operation, authorities pulled out the bodies of three unknown males, whom they suspect are responsible for the fire. The dean and president of SIN were unavailable for comment, although investigations reveal the dead were not students or employees of the school. _

Now I truly feel sick.

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

Every little girl has their favorite Disney princess; it's just common girl criteria. Usually they go hand in hand with their favorite fairy tale. Mine, and to really no surprise to anyone, would be Ariel. Yup, the red head goes for the red headed mermaid, shocking right? Now if you've been living under the pop culture rock for the past twenty years, let me give you a brief overview of The Little Mermaid. So this rebel of a mermaid princess falls in love with a human prince. She sings about it, and when she realizes that unless she becomes a human she will never get her man, makes a deal with the sea witch to ditch her fins for legs. In exchange, Ariel relinquishes her voice and if she doesn't kiss the prince within the allotted three day time given, she'll remain a mermaid and belong to the sea witch. Sweet deal, huh? Anyways, the sea witch tries to foil Ariel's romance in order to become ruler of the seas but she is defeated by the power of love, which is a ship stabbing her in the fat stomach. In the end Ariel gets to be a human and live happily ever after with her prince.

Nice story right? You've got your feisty heroine, your defeated villain, and your happy ending.

Too bad that's not the real story.

Sadly, most fairy tales aren't actually as happy and peppy as their movie counterparts. After all, your target audience is kids.

In the original story of The Little Mermaid, Ariel still makes the exchange with the sea witch for legs. Thing is, it's not just her voice up for bargain. Little Ariel can have her legs, but every time she walks it's going to feel like stepping on knives. Oh, and that's not the worst part, because Ariel fails. Her prince falls for the wrong girl, and if she wants to remain human, she'll have to kill him for her heartbreak. Bitch pussies out and dies. But oh joy! She turns into a daughter of the air and will gain an eternal soul by doing good deeds in death!

Isn't that just a wonderfully fulfilling story? Yeah, I don't like it either.

But there's one thing I'll give the original story credit for; reality. Truth is, happy endings are bullshit fantasies. They're fairy tales in themselves. Nothing ever goes how we want it to, even if we exchange our voice and our walking comfort for happiness. Love is just misery dolled up with sex appeal and satisfaction. We're all slaves to the idea of love being the absolute power that makes the world turn on its axis. And that is why the world is such a fucking mess. Love is against the confines of reality. Do I not believe in love? Not necessarily, but I think it's just another mundane human emotion that isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Here's a lesson reality taught me: Trust no bitch.

Now that I've cleared up any confusion about my view points, I'll have you know that I did not indulge my shrink with the fact that I'm scared shitless. I'm running on about five hours of sleep because the doppelganger's made a home out of my dreams. They're either recreations of all the stuff I hate remembering or surreal time dragging nightmares featuring all of your least favorite things. It's the enemy trying to smoke me out of sanity so I go crawling back to them with my tail between my legs begging them to stop. I'd rather swallow a box of razor blades.

I have to be the one to finish what I started. No one else needs to get hurt because of me. Trust no bitch but yourself. But it scares me to death when I remember what I'm up against. I've fought off against the world's scum since I was eleven, torn kishin souls right out of the bodies of creatures no longer considered human, seen the insides of monsters. I was never capable of being scared until now. Right now we're playing the waiting game. I know what they're doing and they know what I'm doing. It all comes down to who will be ready when the critical moment arrives.

But for now I'm just going to sit on the stairs of DWMA, twisting away at the rings in my lip, trying to deal with this godforsaken burden in my spine.

"Good to see you refraining from smoking on school grounds."

I look over my shoulder, even though I know its Kid yet again interrupting my meditative alone time. I'll try really hard not to let my enthusiasm show.

He sits down an arms-length from me on the top step. "I see your face has retained its symmetry again. How about your leg?"

I touch the cheek where the clown punched his hideous fist. "It's one part quick recovery and one part good makeup application," My hand falls down to my thigh, feeling the bump of bandages underneath my shorts. "Professor Stein said it didn't need stitches and that it's healing pretty well."

Kid looks away from me, nodding. He turns to look at the view of Death City I've been admiring for the past ten minutes.

"Thank you, by the way," Now I'm apathetic, but I'm not rude. "For stitching me back up I guess."

Kid flinches from the corner of my eye, clearly not expecting me to dole out any form of 'thanks for taking my pants off so you could tend to my wound, yay symmetry'. I start twisting one of the rings on my left hand since apparently it's going to be another one of those awkward conversations between us.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about Saint Sebastian's."

Or not.

I look down at the ring I'm just going to continue to twist around my finger like it's the coolest thing on the planet. "There's nothing to talk about." Please, just leave it the fuck alone.

"It has to do with the fire, doesn't it?"

My breath stops short in my lungs. I feel cold all of a sudden, cold and sick to my stomach. My eyes begin to sting because I haven't blinked. He's locked and targeted the fucking landmine.

It's true, you really can't start fresh, just like you can't run from your past.

What is it about this guy? He just gets under the skin, you know?

Another lesson I learned is to always play it cool. "I'll give you credit reaper boy, you're pretty persistent," He's got his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, all cool demeanor and pretty rich boy. I'm the toy he's not going to get for Christmas this year. "I'm a web you don't want yourself entangled in, trust me."

Going by the unchanged expression on his face, I don't think I've gotten through to him. God, how many more times am I going to have to deal with this Dr. Phil dog crap? I just visited my fucking shrink half an hour ago buddy, the opening for being paid to pick at my brain has been filled.

Shit, I really should've stolen Stein's pack of Marlboro's again. This is going to be a doozey of a conversation.

Kid scoots over closer, clearly not taking any of the subtle signals I'm giving him to leave this scar he's picking at alone. "I meant what I said Emily, you don't have to fight the pain alone."

And he's just going to walk right on past the Do Not Enter sign.

I look right into those gold eyes of his, because he doesn't fucking get it, does he? No, he doesn't. "Again, you really don't want to get yourself entangled in the fucking web I've woven for myself," If I had a cigarette I'd put it out in his face. I start to get up, brushing off the back of my shorts. "Now this was a nice talk but I bid you adieu."

As I turn away to leave, a hand encloses around my wrist. Kid isn't about to let me walk off on him according to the tightness of his grip. "I understand more than you think. Walking away from me isn't going to help you. It isn't going to help Lucy either."

I look at Kid incredulously, stuck between wanting to slap him in the face and taking his olive branch. He's got me in a checkmate. He wants to kick the hornet's nest. I've got half a mind to tell him he's absolutely bat shit crazy, but that's going to get me nowhere fast. I'm a difficult person to deal with, but my God I am going to relinquish that honor onto him. The only way to deal with difficult people is to give in, which my pride is going to sting for, but if it means this conversation will end faster then I'll just have to suck it up.

I pull my wrist out of his hand and sit back onto the granite step. "Look Kid, I don't need a pity party. I manage wallowing in my own misfortune quite fine. If you're trying to do this because you feel bad for me, it's not necessary."

"I'm not doing this because I 'pity' you," He says, sitting back down next to me. "Like I said before, I find you interesting."

And now it dawns on me.

"I'm like one of your symmetry things to you, aren't I?"

At this, Kid doesn't say anything. He does, however, let his eyes wander around nervously. That's all the confirmation I need.

I groan into my fists. Christ, am I really that mentally crooked and unbalanced that he has to correct me? I start moving to get back up and leave again.

"Wait!"

Kid's arm reached for my shoulder, his fingertips just barely touching the leather of my jacket. "Would you like to go out to dinner with me sometime this week and talk?"

Oh _God_. Did I just hear Death the Kid ask me out to dinner or am I taking crazy pills? Someone go check and see if hell froze over, quick. "Are you asking me out on a date?" My eye is twitching like a just ate bad shellfish. Oh God, Kid isn't just _interested_ in me. He's starting to blush in his cheeks. Lord, give me strength.

Kid starts rubbing at the back of his head, almost sheepishly, if that's possible for him. "Not unless you want to consider it one..." He looks around frantically again, terribly afraid I'm going to try to get up and leave for a third time. "It will give us the chance to converse further."

"Phones are for conversing. Dinner is for dates," Holy shit he's really starting to come undone. "You don't have to take me out on some pity date because you're a gentleman."

"What if I assure you it won't be considered a date?"

Don't you just hate being put on the spot like this? It sucks, right?

Now not many people have asked me out before. Mom told me it was because guys were too 'intimidated' by beautiful girls. I didn't have the heart to tell her it was because I kicked all their asses in sparring matches. No one wants to date the girl who made them cry after a good crotch shot.

But despite how badly Kid's nerves are jittering, this is clearly one of his stupid OCD things to him.

"You're not going to give up until I say yes, are you?"

"No," He clears his throat into his fist nervously. "So, uh, is that a yes?"

The things I have to put up with these days, I mean goddamn. I finally stand up, ready to leave and put this nightmare of a conversation behind my back. "Yeah, fine."

"Tomorrow then?" He says as I start making my way down the stairs. He looks like he's been holding his breath for the past minute, just standing there ready to collapse when I'm out of sight.

I shrug. "Okay." Nobody goes out for dates on Tuesdays, right? Tuesdays are complete throw away days. They're the days dead end office workers go and get wasted at cheap karaoke bars.

"So it's a date! Er, I mean, not a date! Oh, dammit."

"Bye Kid."

I really hope my eyes just deceived me, but I could've sworn I just say him do a little touchdown victory dance.

* * *

><p>"So I see my Kiddo has taken an interest in Miss. Valentine! She is quite the special one, just like Lilith was."<p>

Lord Death stood observing the scene between his son and Emily in his mirror. a smile forming itself beneath his skull mask. He had been hoping this would happen, that Kid would be able to get through to her. He would be able to make up for what he himself hadn't achieved all those years ago. That's why he told Kid to keep a close eye out on the red head. Despite his son's 'social anxieties', Kid had a way with people whose lives were a little bit off balance. That was one aspect he had inherited from his mother, as she never ceased to help people in need.

Suddenly, the view feed of the school steps were interrupted. An operative from Rome's DWMA branch flickered on screen, his face full of worry whilst adjusting his uniform jacket lapels.

"Lord Death, this is Lovino Cuneos from the DWMA Europe branch in Rome."

Lord Death remained unchanged by the sudden change in transmission. "Yes, Lovino, what is it?"

"You know how Justin Law departed from your branch to arrive back here to resume his duties as Death Scythe of Europe just over a week ago?" Lovino said, his brown beginning to perspire.

Lord Death nodded. "Yes! How is he? I've been meaning to call him-"

"That's the problem Lord Death. Today was the absolute deadline for his arrival. He's hasn't returned. We've lost all contact with him as well sir."

At this, Lord Death stiffened. He had suspected this would happen, but not so soon.

Before he shut the transmission off, Lord Death spoke under his breath. "Take care of her Kiddo."

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

I finally went and saw The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and it definitely helped me out in terms of inspiration for this chapter. It was far better than the original Swedish version in my opinion, and Rooney Mara was AMAZING. If you don't see it in theaters you're a fool. I'd also like to take the time to acknowledge that Lisbeth Salander is one of Emily Valentine's biggest character inspirations.

And I have finally shelled out the M rated material. Hold your orgasms.

Playlist:

**Future Starts Slow by The Kills**

**Somebody That I Used to Know by Gotye**

**A Viable Construct by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross (From The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo)**

**What If We Could? by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross (From The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo)**

**Eyes on Fire by Blue Foundation**

Thank you for the review CrashingUpward! I hope you enjoy this chapter as well! Keep the reviews coming, I love to hear feedback so I know this isn't a steaming pile of crap.

- Nicole


	7. Work In Symmetry

"_Premise to interlude__  
><em>_Wait 'til all bones protrude__  
><em>_You're convexed, you're convert__  
><em>_There's a stain on your shirt__  
><em>_Semi-sweet, semicide__  
><em>_The remorse you can't hide__  
><em>_Now we molt past our skin__  
><em>_And make room to begin__  
><em>_Symmetry__  
><em>_You must work in symmetry__  
><em>_You must earn their empathy_"

**- Crystal Castles, 'Empathy'**

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

It all started with a napkin.

Lucy was stirring her chocolate shake with one of my fries. Have you ever tried dipping French fries in a chocolate milkshake? It sounds disgusting but it's one of those weird combinations that actually works in a way you'd never expect. Lucy was like that kind of combination. The girl has an IQ of 180 and an eidetic memory, but she's…odd. She prefers to wear clothes she imagined old ladies or British children would wear at their wakes. Lucy likes to sketch pictures of fresh road kill on the street and speaks with childlike wonderment about how she torched an evil human on her last mission. Thurston and I are the only ones who ever saw past her extreme quirkiness, as everyone else found her to be too strange for words.

Here I am talking about her as if she's not a modern day Sleeping Beauty.

"Emily, I was doing some light reading in the library today on the Parisian catacombs, and did you know that there's a name for people who like to explore them? They're called _cataphiles__**.**_"

Lucy liked to talk about the catacombs in Paris whenever we frequented the ice cream parlor. We always ordered the same thing, two chocolate milkshakes and the seaside cheeseburgers with French fries. Lucy had already finished her side of fries, and was helping herself to mine whilst spinning around in her bar stool seat.

"Really? Sounds like a nice name for cat ladies." I said as I wiped the juice from my burger off my cheek.

"_Cat lady_ is often seen as a derogatory term. I prefer to call them _feline spinsters_. I also think we should visit the Parisian catacombs sometime. Wouldn't that be fun?" Lucy always looked as if she were in the middle of day dreaming with the way her eyes glossed over, a smile of amusement tugging the corner of her baby pink lips.

I nodded. "Exploring a mass grave maze under the city of love? Sounds like my kind of vacation."

Before I could lean back in for another sip of my chocolate shake, the door flew open with a bang that caused a second of silence amongst the other restaurant patrons. Lucy and I swiveled around in our stools to see just who decided to make the jackass Fonzie entrance.

Many people claim the devil is a red midget with horns and hooves poking the inhabitants of hell with his pitchfork for all eternity. But for those who don't buy into the Disney-fied view of almighty HIM, Satan is the beautiful angel Lucifer who was thrown out of heaven on his ass by God. Who would listen to the evil looking red dwarf on their shoulder anyways when they could bite the forbidden fruit of a handsome young man? The devil can take many forms. The devil can be beautiful.

Oh the devil _was_ beautiful in his rugged leather jacket and white tee shirt that clung to every contour of his abdomen, stained with spots of dirt around the collar. As he looked around the restaurant, he ran a hand through his mop of brown hair, once slicked back to perfection, but now windswept across his forehead. But no devil is complete without a pair of lusty, incubus eyes. Those, _Rebel without a Cause_ glossy greys stopped on me with a physical force that tugged my heart against my ribcage.

It wasn't until Lucy started loudly sipping at her empty milkshake that I managed to break myself from the spell.

"I think he's looking at you Emily! Oh look, he's coming over here!"

Sure enough, he was sauntering over to where Lucy and I sat at the bar. My face must have flushed tenfold because I turned around to look at my empty basket of fries.

As Lucy continued to sip away at her empty glass, I heard the stool next to me creak with new weight.

"Are the milkshakes at this joint any good baby doll?"

The voice, like the lusty hum of a motorcycle, cooed at my side. I looked out of the corner of my eye to see the boy leaning in, his breath softly blowing on my cheek as he ran a finger down the side of my milkshake glass.

A surge of annoyance filtered through my veins, the rings on my finger dug imprints into the palms of my fisted hands.

"You call me 'baby doll' again and I'll make sure my shake is good on your face."

My testy response was only met with a lighthearted chuckle that only succeeded in raising the temperature in my cheeks.

"Huh, never would've guessed that Emily Valentine was cute _and _funny."

I looked back at him incredulously. His James Dean eyes glimmered with mischief as they bore holes into me, and I suddenly felt I was playing the role of the fool.

"H-how do you know who I am?" I said, my mouth unexpectedly feeling dry as the words fell from my lips.

He continued to smile with those beautiful white teeth of his, all the more a bad boy movie star far from home. "The name's Cain Iscariot, and I have a proposition for you."

"Is that you real name or are you trying to be some kind of a cult leader?" I inquired, twirling the straw of my drink in my fingers. Had I not been so naïve to think the name was funny, I would've realized the dangerously intended irony. I was so stupid, sitting there and falling under his spell like so many before me. But love fucks with rational people. Love is one of the greatest evils that plagues mankind.

Before I realized, Cain had started to write his phone number on a fresh napkin, his handwriting neat and small. "Well doll face, if you're interested in what I have to offer a meister of your skill, give me a call." He then picked up my nearly empty milkshake, brought the straw to his lips, and sucked away the remaining contents of the glass, much to my slight annoyance. However, I was already caught in Cain's master web. My heart was a flutter in my chest like a first grader seeing her playground love across the blacktop.

And as the ice cream parlor door closed behind Cain, my thoughts were far and few of what the future would bring. I didn't know he was the devil in disguise. I didn't know that Eibon would fall into the wrong hands. I didn't know I would be responsible for one of the greatest cases of human soul trafficking the world had ever seen.

I didn't know I was going to help create a new kishin.

But like I said, love is a terrible creation of humanity. It distorts whatever rational thoughts you have and cuts you off from reality.

Maybe if I were a lesbian things would've worked out better.

* * *

><p>When I take a step back to look at myself in the mirror, all I feel is discontent.<p>

I look distorted and alien, manufactured and deceitful. This dress would look better on someone else because my face looks superimposed and ill fitted amongst the black velvet and mesh. I am the Bride of Frankenstein, cruelly awakened and misplaced back into the world of the living.

Twiggy had this issue with mirrors and other reflective surfaces. She insisted she saw a fat, disgusting, tub of lard instead of her sunken cheeks, xylophone ribcage, and sharp angled joints. It's a common psychiatric issue that comes with an eating disorder. Eventually the mirror in her bathroom had to be removed after she smeared her bulimic stomach bile all over it, left to stink her entire room up. That day the doctors found her weed stash and she was put in solitary observation up until the day I was discharged.

It was a broken mirror that got me committed in the first place.

Seven years of bad luck. Seven years of doll parts wearing your dresses.

Why am I even bothering to get all pretty for some bullshit not-date anyways? This wasn't intentional, I just happened to pull this little black dress out of the closet and I just happened to spritz on my most expensive perfume. I just happened to stumble into a nice pair of high heels and I just happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realize how fucking stupid I am. But changing outfits is too much effort, so I'll simply avoid looking at my fun house mirror reflection.

"I thought you said you weren't going on a date? Why are you dressed like that then?"

I turn around from eyeballing myself in the mirror to see Kenji standing in the doorway. I'm still not used to closing doors yet, hence why he had the ability to easily intrude on my privacy.

"It's called looking presentable. You should try it sometime," Kenji always wears the same ratty purple hoodie and Nike's. It's not my fault he dresses like a hipster bum. "Besides, I heard Liz Thompson loves a guy with some Gucci going on." I fumble with the mesh sleeve of my dress, as it caught itself on my Vivienne Westwood ring.

"Oh so does that mean you can get Kid to give me the 'okay' with Liz?" Kenji said happily, tapping his knuckles against the door's threshold.

A groan slips out of my mouth before I can catch it as I begin packing my pleated Gareth Pugh clutch with lipstick, perfume, my wallet, and brass knuckles in case someone needs an ass kicking. "Fuck, Kenji, I'm not playing cupid for you. Grow a pair and then you can get into her True Religions." Despite his geeky appearance, Kenji is a quite handsome young man. If you take away the glasses, the hoodies, and the stupid beanies, put him in a nice suit, then had him pose for Vogue, girls across the world would have super wetties. And no, I don't think of my cousin in that manner, ugh. I give Liz credit for seeing past his level one hipster appearance.

"You know Em, you swear too much." Kenji says, beating out a new patter against the threshold.

I twist the studs of my lip rings with my tongue, giving me the temporary accent of the gum chewing, Jersey mission receptionist. "Why would you even believe I'm venturing right back into the dating scene? What are you, stupid?"

Kenji's face suddenly melts into sadness, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose and his hands falling limply at his sides. He's thinking about Cain. The drop diamond earrings. The way I would smell like engine oil after we went to see a creature double feature. My smeared lipstick. My panic. My screams and my cries. The broken mirror.

"So this really isn't a date then?" He says after a couple of agonizing moments of silence.

I throw my hair back behind my ears and walk past him out my bedroom door. It's twenty minutes to eight, and I have the feeling that if I don't show up at precisely eight o'clock there's going to be some interesting headlines in the news tomorrow. "It's strictly business. And you wanted me to be social, right?"

Kenji hums under his breath as he follows me into the living room.

"Besides, I don't believe in love."

Again, love is just destruction and bullshit stuffed into a neat little gift basket.

Love is mankind's devil in disguise.

I grab my cell phone off the walk in counter, which was sitting there next to the tank's keys that should be mine.

"Call me if Kid has a mental breakdown," Kenji says, falling back to sit in the sofa for a night in with his Gurren Lagann DVDs. "Or if he gives me the okay to court Liz."

"You can do your own dirty work; I'm not your personal Cupid. I'll be back before ten unless Kid has a fit over the symmetry of whatever he orders," God, he probably drives waiters and cooks to swallow their own tongues. _The steak is cut a centimeter off. You gave me twenty-__**seven**__ fries. I want my burger cut into the Mona Lisa._ "Bye Kenji."

Breathe in. Breathe out. Irregular breathing is a dead giveaway for lies.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

Emily only agreed to this as long as it would not be considered a date. But as far as I can distinguish, this is turning out exactly as such.

I only wear my red shirt and Armani suit for special occasions. They were the first things I saw when I opened my closet.

The sisters hounded me on my way out the door, Patti making obscene kissing sounds and Liz burying me in requests that I ask Emily about Kenji.

I nearly bought a bouquet of roses on my walk here. A couple on a bench I passed was in the midst of a very public display of affection.

Maybe there is such a thing as kismet.

This is _Death's Diner_, a fifties style burger café complete with servers on roller skates, a vintage jukebox full of Buddy Holly and Elvis, neon light fixtures, and an old fashioned soda fountain. My father would take me here when I was young. The food here is not only up to my standards but the burgers are cut into perfect squares as well. And I have counted one hundred and forty four whole black and white tiles covering the floor. However, I have not been to this restaurant in some years. I usually prepare my own food in the even manner that I find suitable. But this, of course, is a special occasion, even if she does not want to identify it as a 'date'.

_Everyday it's a-gettin' closer  
>Goin' faster than a roller coaster<br>Love like yours will surely come my way  
>A-hey, a-hey-hey<em>

I look at the neon Pepsi clock on the wall. It's a minute to eight and my nerves begin to spike. It will be to my upmost annoyance if she stands me up or comes strutting through the door at some uneven amount of time. I begin drumming my fingers along to the beat of Buddy Holly. The vinyl menu lays flat between my elbows, the plastic cover stretching light in my face.

Taking pretty girls out to dinner is not something I am particularly familiar with, let alone the intoxicating feeling of desire for another's intimate company. I have had my fair share of young ladies attempting to hang off of my shoulder, slurring words into my ear with their breasts pushed up to their chins. Of course, most of these girls had only superficial interests in mind, keen on taking advantage of my status. They were sloppy and one dimensional, following me around like dogs in heat. Emily, of course, was different from the beginning, not only in the way she makes me feel when I'm near her, but in that she has brushed off most of my advances. To reiterate, my status grants me many of the things I desire. I've rarely been told no. However, there is also the mystery that ensnares me and the desire to balance. This is what I am sitting in this patent leather booth for, to discuss beneath the surface secrets, right?

Suddenly, the bell of the diner door rings. I look up from the fixed spot I have been concentrating on.

She's here. She's here and damn, she looks perfect. The velvet black dress hugs her figure close with the mesh sleeves and collar doing wonders for shaping her slender arms and accentuating her carved clavicles. Again, she has gone with high heels, patent leather pumps that overpower Buddy Holly with the noise they make clicking against the tile floor. There's a sparkle of earrings behind the nest of her hair. My mouth, which is hanging open in a slight gape, helps to heighten the scent of jasmine and vanilla I smell as she slides into the opposite side of the booth.

"You came." I say, unable to think of any other logical string of words to compose a sentence with.

Emily places her purse on the table counter, her eyes wandering around the diner. "I like to keep all of my appointments." Her eyes continue to shift and her expression evolves into a mix of old nostalgia and sadness. The jukebox switches songs.

I swallow the tension of my jaw down my throat. "Is-is there something wrong? Would you like to go somewhere else?"

Emily's eyes finally fall on me, her eyebrows perking up to the sound of my voice. "No. This place just reminds me of somewhere I used to go back home." She says, picking the menu in front of her up.

"Was it a replica fifties diner like this one?" I ask, although her focus is now shifted upon flipping through the pages of the menu for whatever looks the most appealing.

"It was an old fashioned ice cream parlor. Lucy and I kinda made it our stomping ground since we would go there after missions," She stops in the middle of turning a page and looks up at me. "It was right by the harbor, so it always smelled like the ocean; the ocean, ice cream, and fried foods." Her face loses its previous sadness, leaving only nostalgia behind. For a moment she looks the same as she did in the pictures, optimistic and confident. I wish I could tell her that countenance looks best.

"Whatever, this isn't what we're here for, right?" Emily says, leaning forward so her elbows rest against the edge of the table. "What do you want to know?"

I find myself at a disturbing loss for words. This is what she does to me, she halts all brain activity, as if cursing me to be a fool and step all over my own demeanor. "Does it make you sad when you think about Lucy?" Damn, and of all the things that choose to pop out of my mouth it has to be about her comatose friend. I surely will not be winning any points in her favor.

Unsurprisingly, her eyes narrow in response to the question I wish I could lasso back into my head where it should have stayed. "Was that supposed to be rhetorical or something?" She says out of the corner of her mouth.

I feel as if I forgot to iron all the wrinkles out of my sheets. "I apologize, that was a stupid thing to ask…"

"Of course it makes me feel sad," Emily places her chin in the palm of her hand, her cool demeanor easing me out of my failed effort of damage control. I suppose I will not be putting my foot in my mouth for this. "Shitty is more like it. I'm sure you read all the news articles with the 'eye witness' reports," She looks down, picking up her knife and turning over in her fingers as if deliberating something. "The doctors don't know when or even if she'll wake up. Not to mention leaving your best friend behind on the other side of the country gives me serious abandonment guilt."

It's now that I see what kind of weight Emily carries on her shoulders. Guilt. However, the guilt goes deeper than simply leaving someone behind to restart life. I see it in her eyes as she fixes her stare on the blade of the knife. As the saying goes, the things people are willing to reveal are only the tip of the iceberg. I want to penetrate deeper, but I fear pushing too hard. There's the silhouette of a secret, a missing link to what appears an open and closed story. It's not a matter of the past haunting her, no. It's far more complicated than that. The abnormal entity in her soul cannot be explained by an everyday trauma, but something far more sinister. Her soul wavelengths are shaking, pulled taut by weakening hands.

And as quickly as she reveals this pain, she quickly hides it again, turning back to her menu. "What's good at this joint anyways?"

I quickly recompose myself from my thoughts. "My father always took me here for a burger and fries when I was younger. The milkshakes here are also quite satisfying."

"Funny, that's the same thing Lucy and I always got." Emily says softly.

As if on cue, our waitress rolls over, wobbly in her skates and bumping against the edge of the table. "Hey kids! Welcome to Death's Diner! Are you all set to order?" She says as she pulls a pen and notepad from her apron. Her eye shadow is messily applied on her lids, an obnoxious blue color only found on the color blind.

Emily folds her menu up. "Yeah, I'll have a chocolate milkshake and a cheeseburger with fries." The waitress turns to me as she finishes scrawling the order out.

"I'll have the same I suppose."

The waitress narrowly avoids falling face first onto the floor as she skates away to put in our orders, the menus sliding out of her arms.

Emily hums out a sigh at the sound of our waitress colliding with a man on his way to use the restroom. She sneaks a glance at me out of the corner of her eye. "So, the only reason we're doing this is because you just want to 'talk', huh?"

I nod. "I'm not asking you to talk about anything you don't want to."

"God, why aren't you my therapist?" Emily says, tapping at her chin.

Damn, initiate something. "So, there was something in Saint Sebastian's that scared you?"

Emily's arm falls back onto the table, giving me a look I can't distinguish from her usual expressions. "I could say the same for you."

I frown. "I've had an unfavorable run in with clowns before. However, you fainted."

The jukebox switches songs again. The booth next to us erupts into laughter. I brace myself for Emily to thrust the prongs of her fork through my neck.

The pain doesn't come.

"It's called 'Post-traumatic Stress Disorder'. What you saw was acute anxiety having its way with me. Running from a freakazoid circus creep in a building about to implode was a little too much like dragging your best friend out of a burning school." Emily brushes her hair back behind her ears, revealing a pair of beautiful drop diamond earrings.

"Is that all?" It's not that I think she is lying. Omitting the whole truth isn't necessarily deceitful, though it is quite a burden.

She scrunches her face up as if I've asked her if the sky is blue. "I don't know, you tell me?"

This is becoming painful. It's like dealing with a candle that won't burn evenly, or painting that won't hang correctly centered. "You're keen on remaining mysterious, aren't you?" Damn this girl, with her symmetry, and her nice smell, and her vagueness, and for filtering in and out of my dreams.

Now, she cocks a sly smile, not unlike the one Professor Stein would express upon discussing dissections of various corpses. "I'm sure you understand that better than anyone else. We do both come from famous lineage," Emily leans back in her seat, folding her slender arms across her voluptuous chest. "Do a lot of people compare you to your old man?"

I never would have suspected that this conversation would turn on me. Emily really is more clever and crafty than I would have guessed. I begin drumming my knuckles against the table. "I prefer to carve my own image rather than adopt my father's persona."

The way Emily has her arms crossed along her chest pushes her breasts up closer to her chin, accentuating the length of cleavage under the mesh collar. "Cool, but do you try to live up to others expectations?"

I suppose I was right in assuming that the two of us were alike. She sure came prepared for our conversation. Maybe she does realize the two of us are one in the same, else such a question wouldn't be making my heart jam against my ribcage. Still, composure is key. "The title of ruling Grim Reaper comes equipped with many responsibilities, such as maintaining balance and order, overseeing life and death, and battling madness."

Emily breathes out her signature, sarcastic, airy laugh. Her copper eyes, half lidded under the mass of eyeliner and thick lashes, sparkle with reemerged confidence. "No wonder you're so fixated on symmetry." To her, this is a game of chess. It's my move and it's time to reiterate my previous argument.

"You're like me though, you don't want to rely on a legacy to prove your worth." Minus all the missing pieces of her past, Emily Valentine is not an overly complicated girl to decipher.

Her eyes shift focus over and out the window, where various people are walking past and enjoying their Tuesday night out and about in the city. The look tinged with sadness returns to her face. "Well, my legacy went up in flames."

Something tells me that her statement has two meanings. "What about ballet? I read that you were a prima ballerina in Boston." I can imagine her tying up her ballet slippers, stretching out her long legs in front of a wall length mirror before dancing as if she were walking on air. I am alone in the audience as she graces the stage, bathed in light, dancing just for me. There are no more mysteries between us.

"Oh that? I quit."

My jaw flops open in shock. "Really? But why? It appeared that you were quite good."

Emily turns back and picks up a fork, pressing the tongs against each of her finger tips with boredom. "Lost passion for it on account of the PTSD. Lucy and I first met taking ballet classes together when we were seven. She was kinda the white swan to my black swan." She continues to press each tong harder and harder into her fingers, creating little indentations.

"Did ballet make you happy though?"

Emily perks up at my question, pausing from pressing a prong into the fleshy pad of her thumb.

The juke box changes songs again. The family in the next booth is getting up to leave. Outside a car alarm is wailing.

"Hey Kid?"

Emily stares at me as if she can see the inner workings under my flesh. A chill runs down my spine at this intense gaze, and I suddenly feel out of balance. The fork in her hand is placed back onto the table counter with a small 'clank'.

"How interested in me are you?" She whispers out between her full red doll lips. Heat grows in my face, and I find my hands opening and grasping as if trying to hold onto the composure I sense is slowly slipping away.

Are the books in the library still in alphabetic order? Did I arrange the clothes in my closet by color? Are the statues in the main hall all facing at forty five degree angle?

"Well…I…you see…?"

"This is a date, isn't it?"

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

Oh for the love of all things big and small.

Who was I kidding? Nice dress, nice shorts, 'deep' conversation, Kid visibly ogling my cleavage.

I'm on a fucking date.

Poor Kid. He's sitting across from me all red in the face and trying to find the right words to make this situation less damn awkward. But here I am, sitting in a vinyl booth wearing a pair of earrings I should've tossed in the garbage when I had the chance, remembering that I never perfected The Swan. I'm a sea siren who lulls sailors to their watery graves. I'm the sun that Icarus flew too close to.

I have half a mind to stab myself through the hand with this fork.

To be quite honest, Death the Kid is my type. Dark, handsome, well spoken, sharply dressed, smart. Of course, there's the ever-present and eternally irritating symmetry obsession, but Kid's pure old soul eclipses this major annoyance. He is concerned with justice.

He will hate me when he learns the truth.

If I wasn't so fucked up I probably allow him to come closer to me than arms length.

But love doesn't last. Even those cute little elderly couples married for seventy years secretly loathe each other. The only reason they still stick together is because their too old and wrinkly to chase any fresh tail.

Something always goes wrong, feelings change, someone fucks up. Then there's no love left, only a black hole of hate. At one point you shared your bodies, now just looking at them makes you want to cave their head in with an aluminum bat.

I can't take advantage of something so false.

"Look Kid," I say with a sigh. "You're a good guy. You really don't want to get yourself involved with me, I'm not worth any of the trouble I'll cause. I have a wardrobe full of skeletons and you don't deserve someone with that kind of emotional baggage," Why do I feel so sad and alone now? It's not like I'm giving away my puppy or something. Still, it feels like I'm relinquishing whatever sense of happiness I have left. "Don't waste your time on me, because you can do so much better."

I'm doing the noble thing, right? Does he understand I don't want to bring him down with me? This is my martyrdom. A Grim Reaper with an extreme case of obsessive compulsive disorder is the last person who should be cozying up to me.

But for some inexplicable reason, my heart aches for having to push Kid away like this. Maybe it's not necessarily heart ache I feel, as my heart is already irreparable thanks to the last person I entrusted it to. He took a huge bite out of it and crushed what remained in his cold hand, leaving the organ an incomplete, bloodless pulp in my chest.

Instead, I think I feel that I'm the one whose advances are being pushed aside.

I just can't win, can I?

Kid's liquid gold eyes darken, but not with melancholy as I have been expecting. Instead, he looks invigorated and self assure, a deep contrast from the spluttering wreck he was only seconds ago.

"That doesn't discern me Emily. After all, I can see your soul."

Soul perception. And my poor, tainted soul with its new live in resident on display for his hungry eyes. My doppelganger is a sneaky little bitch that travels from one end to another, feeding off of me to insure my leash stays tight around my neck. Madness attracts her, and with enough of it around, anyone with soul perception can see the parasite in my soul.

It's the way Cain engineered the blood. That sneaky bastard.

I try not to give any hint of my secrets away through my narrowed eyes. "So what did you see then?"

Kid's eyes fixated themselves on me, so hard and focused that I feel small and meek. "A soul trying to mend itself amongst stress." He says, pushing his thumbs together so hard that the tips darken with a rush of blood.

Leaving out the whole truth counts as lying. I would know. Lying is the new black.

Kid is too far invested in me. I'm like a butterfly he's pinned in a glass case, observing its symmetrical beauty as it tries to rip its wings from the nails.

"Is that all you saw?" Shit, where is my milkshake to plug up all this word vomit spewing out of my mouth?

Kid's face solidifies again. "Well, I also see a girl who is no longer sure of who she is anymore. Something terrible happened to her, and now she's questioning herself and the things she does," He looks older and wiser, truly immortal almost. "However, I can tell you that she's no different than she was before."

It's as if he's trying to coax a gun out of my mouth. Like he's trying to get me to step away from the ledge. Am I really worthy of empathy? Is this why my heart is drowning in an endless sea without a surface.

Warmth tingles at the back of my eyes. I turn away to stare at a picture of Elvis crooning to a crowd of teenage girls. I swallow the urge of tears down as the jukebox switches songs once again.

_Oh my love  
>My darling<br>I've hungered for your touch  
>A long lonely time<br>As time goes by so slowly  
>And time can do so much<br>Are you still mine?_

This isn't even a fifties song.

I wish I had no face. Then no one would be able to tell what I feel.

"You're wrong. You're wrong."

Let me put my gun back in my mouth. Let me pull the trigger so I can feel the pain of being human.

"Why am I wrong?"

It's a shame Elvis died in the middle of taking a shit on the toilet. And all those girls screaming and reaching their arms out for his pant legs are now old, fat, and miserable.

"Because sometimes shit happens." I turn back to Kid, whose eyes seemingly haven't budged an inch by the way they're glossy from lack of movement, his lips stiff in a straight line.

Inhale. Exhale. You are now breathing manually.

"Sorry for the wait y'all! I've got your burgers and shakes right here!" The milkshake I needed a minute ago finally slides in front of me, a thick burger with boxy French fries following suit. Kid was right; the milkshakes here are pretty good.

Kid's quiet as he starts counting the number of fries on his plate, and I can feel his eyes flickering up and down as I begin squirting out ketchup from the Heinz bottle. God, I really hope they gave him an even number. This 'business' date is already a complete and utter flop, and I certain don't need to deal with another one of reaper boy's tantrums like a three year old over fucking fries.

I haven't had a burger and fries since the day before the accident. On a little napkin Lucy was using as a coaster for her shake, we planned our foray on the ones who had used us as their puppets. We would destroy whatever it was we had played a hand in creating. Me, with my cunning and quick thinking, and Lucy with her intelligence and cool head under stress, we would get rid of everything before people could realize what monstrosity had occurred under their noses. We didn't plan on walking into a trap.

I vomited when Cain pulled the blanket off of the aquarium tank. He said she was going to pick up where Asura left off. Asura was flawed, you see. Gods cannot be flawed, else they're useless. What the world needed was a Goddess of Madness to reign over them as Asura never could. That fucking disgusting collection of flesh and hair, snarling and crying like a blood thirsty infant, Cain said she was the product of our love. He said that I, their Mary Magdalene, was now to be Mary the Mother of God when he stuck the two syringes into my arm. One filled its tube with my blood, which Cain served as an offering to her, the final ingredient for their manmade demon. The other injected Lucy and I with the abomination's black blood.

Stupid Arachne. Stupid Medusa. They were only the Holy Spirits, giving our little group the blueprints they needed to create a new manifestation of madness.

Noah, the messiah. Gopher, the first disciple. And Cain, my Judas.

"Emily?"

I look up from the bite I've taken out of my cheeseburger.

"Would you like to dance with me?"

Oh God, I'm starting to choke. "Ack! W-what?"

Kid takes a quick sip of his milkshake. "Dancing made you happy, right? Would you like to dance with me?" It's like he's explaining why two plus two equal four and not five.

He arranged his fries into a neat little log house on his plate. His burger is cut into fourths. He ought to have his own show on TLC.

"This is a diner, not a disco." I say, popping a fry smothered with ketchup into my mouth.

But no, now Kid is placing the napkin he situated onto his lap neatly onto the table and coming over to my side of the booth. Shit, is he wearing an Armani suit? My heart thuds in my chest. I can feel people beginning to stare at this unfolding scene, some snotty red headed girl arguing with Lord Death's son in the middle of a date he's probably paying for. What a bitch.

Now Kid has his hand on my shoulder, and I feel this electric shock run down my spine as if I've never been touched by anyone before. And by the way his face is twisted with bratty determination, I doubt he's going to give up and plant his ass back down in that faux leather seat. "I promise it will make you feel better." He extends his other hand in front of my face like a distinguished fancy Victorian gentleman.

Feel better? I'm pissed off, not on my rag.

But I can feel eyes staring at me. They'll ask themselves in their cars why the hell any girl would turn down an offer to dance with Death the Kid, number one teen heart-throb in Death City. Who did Ariel there think she was?

It's times like this when you have to pick your battles. I reluctantly grasp Kid's hand, which pulls me up out of my seat and walks me over to the jukebox. The people sitting on the bar stools swivel in their seats to turn and look at us as Kid takes a quarter out of his pants pocket and sticks it in the slot.

He's flipping through the song list, his eyes focused and his face scrunched up like he's trying to solve trigonometry.

Hey there again Elvis. You know you got all fat and bloated in the seventies, right?

_It was a teenage wedding, and the old folks wished them well  
>You could see that Pierre did truly love the madamoiselle<br>And now the young monsieur and madame have rung the chapel bell,  
>"C'est la vie", say the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell<em>

Kid's twisting on the tops of his feet around me to the slick piano rhythm and twanging guitars. The boy's got moves, I'll tell you that. He beats his fists out with his shimmies that will probably give a preteen goosebumps. He's a sensation. A teenage dream. A real dishy guy, as the old ladies with the blue hair eating their half priced specials would say.

Everyone is watching. Watching and waiting.

If you can't beat them, join them. I can't beat a dead horse anymore.

The Frug never does go out of style.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

Oh God guys, sorry for the long wait! School is chaos and I'm trying to get my January 15th college applications in and dealing with letters for my Early Actions I should've received weeks ago.

Couple references you'll find in this chapter. _Black Swan_. _Pulp Fiction. _

But this chapter was hard to write thanks to all these school distractions. I have midterms coming up next week so you guys might have to wait awhile for the next chapter. But I plan on finishing this before starting anything else. I see this going around fifteen or so chapters, maybe more. But next chapter we will get some action. And remember Kid has his birthday coming up? That's going to play a part.

Playlist:

**Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers**

**Everyday by Buddy Holly**

**You Never Can Tell by Chuck Berry**

**Empathy by Crystal Castles**

**Theme by Jon Brion (From Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind)**

**Superstar by Sonic Youth (Covering The Carpenters) **

I'm tired and this is probably full of grammatical errors but I just want to get this posted. I'll worry about it tomorrow.

And thank you so much for all the reviews on the last chapter! I love all you new readers and I hope this chapter is up to your expectations!

Review and praise!

Nicole


	8. Evil's Heart, Evil's Soul

"_They can keep me alive_  
><em>'Til I tear the walls<em>  
><em>'Til I slave your hearts<em>  
><em>And they take your souls<em>  
><em>And what have we done?<em>  
><em>Can it be undone?<em>  
><em>In the evil's heart<em>  
><em>In the evil's soul<em>"

**- Florence + The Machine, 'Seven Devils'**

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

"Ah, Kiddo! You never did tell me how your little date with Miss Valentine went!"

I look up from writing the last bulleted sentence on my clipboard. Despite the unchanging face of his mask, I can tell that my honorable father is grinning ecstatically. Not that I don't find conversation with my father to be agonizing or humiliating (Though he continues to compliment on my hair's 'cute' imperfection) but rather I prefer not to talk to him about dating, relationships, and sexual behavior in general.

We are also in the middle of planning my birthday party, I job I have since taken over as I have excused all the party planners my father called for. All of their shocking lack of symmetrical aesthetic was not only displeasing, but called for ridiculous and tacky suggestions. One woman with a wrinkly jaw in a maroon pantsuit proposed a party that would be half 'heaven' and half 'hell'. I took that as the cue to pack all of her things back into her patent leather shoulder bag and show her the door. After I fired the fifth planner who suggested rearranging the entire dining hall for the party, I came to the conclusion that I should oversee the organization of my own birthday.

"She insisted it not be called a 'date' in the romantic sense of the word," I place my chin on the bridge of my folded hands, straightening up in my father's eloquent chair. "I took her to _Death Diner_, which she seemed to enjoy."

Father rubs at his masked chin, his face lighting up as he nods his head. "Good! Good! Now Kiddo, tell me the truth, how far did you get?"

"FATHER!" A very excellent example of why I avoid these types of conversations with my father like a Dark Ages plague.

"Kidding! Kidding! Oh ho ho ho!" He bounces with laughter at his very distasteful joke. Ugh, my stomach is churning at the thought of his genuine interest in my budding sex life. I look back down at what I've written so far on the clipboard to hide the flush filling my cheeks.

**At Gallow's Manor**

**Black tie (All guests must wear black)**

**Orchestra and a punk band (Ask Soul for bands)**

**Open to all of Shibusen DWMA and Death City**

**Party must start at eight o'clock sharp**

**Stein is not allowed to use his chair**

**Ice sculptures**

**Catering: Japanese, Italian, or French**

**Theme: A macabre 'Royal Funeral'**

**Liz and Patti need matching Gucci dresses**

Needless to say, I expect my birthday to outdo the annual Foundation Day Eve party. And this time I plan to make sure there is enough food catered so that Patti and Black Star will leave food for other guests.

Father leans forward and places a gigantic hand on my shoulder. "Oh, don't get all red faced son! Women are beautiful. Yes, beautiful, but very complicated creatures. Emily Valentine is quite a headstrong girl, with all the charm and lethality of her ancestor. Lilith could slay an evil human with the same effort it took her to bat her eyelashes. And I'm sure you and Emily would produce such adorable offspring!"

"FATHER!" Where's a basin? I'm going to be sick.

"Kidding! Oh ho ho ho!" Father ruffles my hair into an agonizing mess, and I think I'm on the verge of a panic attack or just flat out regurgitating about a gallon of blood. "So, I'm sure my son was a smooth operator on his first date!"

I finger comb my hair back into place, the dark flush finally dissipating from my cheeks. "I was courteous, as all men should be with a woman. Yes, I paid the bill and I walked her back to her apartment complex. And I danced with her as well." Despite all the awkward moments the previous night had produced, dancing to Chuck Berry with Emily Valentine made it all worth it in the end. She twisted and she turned with the flexibility expected of a professional ballerina, but with the sensuality of a burlesque queen. At some point during our dance, we locked eyes, and I saw a faint look of enjoyment from under her thick lashes. A smile tugged at the corners of her painted lips as she spun around me and I felt the strongest urge to bend her over my arm and connect our mouths in a searing kiss. Of course, I wasn't looking for a slap in the face.

My father nods approvingly. "Yes, she was a very prominent ballerina back in Boston from what I've heard! You are quite lucky son, beautiful, strong, and talented," Suddenly my father turns away to gaze at his long reflection in his mirror, his voice dropping off into a personal whisper. "Yes, quite strong."

Now, I don't plan to talk about the other reason I had taken Emily out on the 'date', which proved to be more or less a therapy session than a simple business talk. At least, I wasn't planning on bringing it up. Emily's past is seemingly my own, independent investigation, and the more I've dug, the more mystery I've encountered. She doesn't talk beyond inferring something terrible I have yet to uncover occurred. The other day I had continued my research in the DWMA library, turning this time to the public meister records on the fifth floor. I should not have been completely taken aback when I discovered a large portion of Emily's file had been sealed as 'Confidential'.

Activity within the last year: Records sealed.

Mental health and withstanding: Records sealed.

My father's sudden change in demeanor only serves to reaffirm the now undeniable suspicion I have been holding: My father yet again is in on a secret.

"Father, you know the real reason why she moved here, don't you?" A chill runs down my spine as he just barely turns away from his reflection in physical reaction. "Something happened in SIN the day of the fire."

It is indeed rare to catch my father appearing serious and silent as he is now, a demeanor he only displays in moments of true fragility. When my father drops his boisterous and carefree persona, there is indeed something wrong.

My father continues into his silence trying to find the correct words to say in response. The air of discomfort I feel between us is making me regret bringing anything up at all.

I ought to write down that I would like the candles on the cake to be in two groups of eight. Red velvet with cream cheese frosting would be nice too, in the shape of two Death Eagles.

"That's for her to tell you Kid," My father says, soft enough that I can make out the low pitch of his breath. "What she needs right now is for someone to help guide her out of self doubt. Sometimes we let our mistakes consume us with guilt as a form of punishment," His glimmering gold eye peers at me from the corner of the mask's eyehole. "Emily Valentine is girl of great potential who has suffered from a betrayal that has dearly hurt her soul. I trust your clairvoyance in this issue Kid."

"_I have a wardrobe full of skeletons."_

"There's something wrong with her, isn't there?"

My father remains silent.

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

According to Freudian psychology, dreams are manifestations of the unconscious. They represent our desires and wishes through their latent content. Everything we dream about has some deep, hidden meaning. A gun is a phallic image, so if you're packing heat you're in the middle of a hardcore desire for some penis apparently.

Of course, like most of Freudian psychology, this theory has since been deemed false thanks to science. Guns are just guns, not subtle indications that you wanna handle some pork swords.

However, it has yet to be proven that dreams are just pointless nonsense thrown together into moving images, sounds, and sensations. I say this because my dreams are certainly not bizarre pink elephants at the disco lately.

I'm dancing alone on a dark, empty stage, with only a spotlight to accompany my every movement. My skirt is fluffy tulle and my slippers are creamy silk, tied up in ribbons along my calves.

I'm dancing to Camille Saint-Saens _The Swan_. I never had the right 'softness' to perfect it. I wasn't a graceful swan, but a furious raven.

But this time, I'm perfecting it in front of an empty auditorium. The ghosts of the audience are watching me intently, praising all of my grace and fluidity. I'm a swan.

I suddenly feel a warm hand ghost along my shoulder and intertwine with my fingers. I look down the length of my arm to see my palm occupied. Breath blows at the crook of my neck as I feel the smooth skin of a cheek press itself to my ear.

"Dancing makes you happy, doesn't it?"

It's Kid, moving along with me in my elegant dance like my long lost prince. A chill runs down my spine as his other hand sneaks to hold my waist.

I spin. I pirouette. I glide. I dip. He is with me every step of the way. I feel warmth in my chest that I haven't felt for oh so long. I feel loved and cared for, I feel completely human again. I'm capable of perfection.

I twirl back into Kid's chest, and he dips me over his arm. The world goes upside down as I lean back, in the very climax of my happiness.

That's when his hand travels up the length of my stomach to grab at my breast.

The breath in my throat hitches, and I'm pulled back to the upright world again.

Only it's no longer Kid I'm being held against.

The hand on my breast squeezes hard with possession and the fingers on my waist dig into my flesh.

"Hey there doll face."

Something warm starts to drip down my arms.

The music continues as I stand there frozen in panic as Cain sinks his teeth into the skin of my neck to mark me as his.

It's blood running down my arms and wrists and hands and fingers. It's my blood. It's black.

I can hear the high, solid pitch of Lucy's heart monitor flat lining, the blood curdling scream of the mob boss I shot through the eye, Thurston punching a hole through the wall of the hospital, and Cain commenting about how soft my lips are.

So here I am, running on about three hours total of sleep, jittering with the extra caffeine intake I required to make me a fully functioning human being, watching intently as Kid corrects Patti on how her stance is off again.

I'm lying if I don't acknowledge that something has changed. I know I'm his little pet project, but at the same time that I find it to be excessively annoying, I find parts of it to be nice. I got a free meal out of it after all. And when I walked into DWMA yesterday morning, every girl was staring at me like I was a Marc Jacobs bag in the store window. I'm the one girl in Death City Death the Kid has ever taken out on anything comparable to a 'date'. I am now the envy of every single uterus under the age of twenty. The best part is that I'm not one of the stark raving mad fangirls he has. There are hordes of them I tell you. They like to bend and snap when he walks by, subtly push up their breasts to accentuate their messy cleavage, and follow him at distances behind corners and doors. I'm surprised I haven't found a horses' head in my bed yet with the way those girls operate.

The sun beats at my back. Kenji is talking to Soul and Black Star about what I assume is how he beat one of his new video games last night. Maka and Tsubaki are off sitting under the shade of one of the oak trees getting some amount of studying in.

I don't want to think about how possible it is that Kid can transform into my super evil ex-boyfriend.

"Jeez, why do you always look like you'd rather be somewhere else?"

I look up from my fixed stare at the tips of my shoes to see Liz smirking, her knuckles fisted into the bare skin of her midriff.

"If it were up to me I'd be in bed. Sleeping," I say, fixing the length of the skirt of my black ballet dress past my knees. Ironic outfit of choice, considering the content of my nightmare last night. "You look like you'd rather be getting your teeth pulled than deal with Reaper Boy's whining."

Liz huffs a breath and sits next to me on the rock wall I've been occupying for the past ten or so minutes. "Sometimes I ask myself how I'm one of the few people who can put up with him and his bratty drama," She rolls her eyes as she watches Kid pull at his hair, telling Patti that her knees aren't locked correctly. "Real sorry on his behalf if he pulled any of that on you during your date."

"Ugh, please don't call it a date," Even though it was, in every technical definition of the word. He paid for the bill, we danced, he walked me home, and Kenji stayed up waiting for me, half asleep on the couch. The only proof I can provide for the 'it wasn't a date' argument was the fact that I didn't come home with smeared lipstick or my panties on backwards. "I don't want an invitation for his fan club to throw flaming bags of used tampons through my window. And to be honest, he was actually pretty okay the other night."

"Impressive. To his credit, he's calmed down about his whole symmetry deal since Asura died. Once he tried taking a test and he never made it past writing half of his name. The 'K' wasn't to his liking." Liz picks at one of her manicured fingernails, her face scrunching in distaste at the memory I would honestly pay a hundred dollars to see in real time.

"If you ignore the whole Obsessive Compulsive issue, he's actually quite the prince." My inner Italian grandmother is speaking on my behalf, Christ. _He's wealthy, dishy, has connections. When you getting married? I wanna see some babies!_

Yikes.

"Ooo, do I smell romance in the air?" Liz flips her hair past her shoulder, lashes batting with overt drama.

I scrunch my nose. "No. Black Star probably just let one go."

Our pleasant conversation is ended by Professor Stein flying past us at high speed in his desk chair and getting a face full of grass and dirt thanks to the power of a lone pebble in the wheels' path.

Liz fails to stifle a groan from the corner of her mouth.

"So, this is like, an every day occurrence?"

Liz nods. "I wouldn't be surprised if he has serious brain damage."

Stein pulls his head up from the crater he's made in the dirt, his glasses crooked and grass sticking out of his mouth. "Okay everyone; gather round, I've got a lesson to teach."

All the students who, up until now were in clusters of groups in the middle of fulfilling conversation, gather round with the enthusiasm of kids about to visit the grandmother who pinches their cheeks and considers cough drops candy.

Kenji stumbles over next to me as Liz goes to join her sister and Kid, who is still red faced and frustrated at Patti's lack of coordination.

Stein finally peels himself off the ground and stands his fallen chair back upright, plopping back into the seat backwards as per usual. "Now I know that most of you have achieved the ability to resonate with you partners," I notice Stein's eyes move back and forth between Maka, Black Star, and Kid. "However, some of you have yet to apply this technique beyond demonstration. After all, resonance is an important playing card in battle with an enemy." Stein fumbles into the pocket of his lab coat to pull out his pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He taps a stick out and lights the end after a few frustratingly dry clicks of the lighter.

He's smoking a different brand now. I guess it's his way of telling me he doesn't want any more of my mooching off of his packs. He usually smokes Marlboros, my favorite brand. He's traded in for Camels. Ew.

"So for this lesson, we're going to see the power of resonance in action. I need two teams of volunteers," He muffles through the cigarette stuck between his lips. "Kid, you, Liz, and Patti, go stand over there," He thumbs at the oak tree. Then his eyes land on me. "Emily, you and Kenji go over there."

"I don't remember volunteering." Seriously, can we not play this game today? All I really want to do is crawl underneath the sheets, curl up, and snooze. I don't have the time or the patience to deal with effort.

Kenji tugs at my wrist with a groan. "Well nobody volunteers for my dissection lessons. Go stand by the bushes Valentine." Stein cranks the bolt in his head, a hint of 'batshit crazy' playing in his eyes. Well dude, nobody volunteers because they don't want to wake up in a bath tub full of ice missing a kidney. How he hasn't had his teaching license revoked, or how he even received one, is completely beyond me.

Well whatever, I'm too sleep deprived to make a scene.

Stein blows out a cloud of smoke. "Alright, both of you resonate with your weapons and wait for my instructions."

I haven't resonated with Kenji for about two months. And I make this painfully clear to him with the bugged out look in my eyes. It's the same kind of look you'd wear when you walk into class and realize you were supposed to hand in an essay that you thought you had one more day to work on. Fuck.

Kenji, and bless his heart, puts a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry Em, what's two months when we've been doing this since we were still in elementary school? Just try to steady your wavelength so it'll make things easier."

I remember what Stein said during one of our shrink interrogations, that since Kenji and I share a blood line and are on equilibrium that he can balance out most of my soul's 'problems'. However, I don't have the power of soul perception, and thus I can't assess what the damage to my soul looks like. For all I know I could be deeply overestimating my resonating abilities.

I look over at Kid. Patti and Liz are already in their gun forms, and he has this placid look on his face. I can feel the evenness of his soul energy. For such a strung out guy he's got a solid, steady wavelength.

I nod and turn back to Kenji. "Challenge accepted." I reach out my hands as Kenji dissipates into a flash of purple light. Seconds later, the light reshapes into Kenji's axe form in the palms of my hands. Cold metal in my clammy hands; reminds me that I should really invest in some fingerless gloves.

I close my eyes and steady my breathing. Sound soul, sound body, sound mind. Warmth begins to grow in my chest, spreading throughout my entire body. As the warmth continues to intensify, it starts to seep out of my hands, indicating the steady connection of my soul wavelengths to Kenji's. As his wavelengths enter, I feel the familiar barrier of calmness envelop me. Ying and yang.

"Hey, what's the matter with you?" I hear Kenji say in my head, his axe form, still in the midst of its resonance upgrade, vibrating in my hands.

Surprisingly, I don't feel any different. I don't know exactly what I'm suspecting. Good old doppelganger to burst out of my chest a'la _Alien_ or maybe bursting into flames like someone doused me with holy water. My head will spin around and I'll grab the nearest crucifix and diddle with it. No, I feel…normal, empowered.

But Kenji feels it. "What are you feeling?"

"I can't really tell, your wavelengths just seem…different. Altered more like it." He says, a slight quiver echoing in his voice.

The transformation completes and I finally open my eyes.

For those of you who don't know, for a weapon, resonating is like a power up. I was first able to resonate with Kenji when I was about ten, and I stand by saying that he has one of the most beautiful resonance forms I've even seen. He goes from poleaxe to executioner axe, his blade elongating into a dripping curve. While his normal poleaxe form is about a foot taller than his human form, the executioner axe stands at about seven and a half feet. The golden wielding handle is wrapped in rounded ridges like ribbon candy. But most impressive is the etching of Japanese kanji on the blade plate.

_Rite of Death_

I look over to at Kid. Huh, impressive arm canons.

"Good job you two. Now, I want you to spar and show the class how resonating makes a difference in combat."

My stomach drops. Kid's eyes bulge out of their sockets.

"Woah, woah, woah. You want us to spar?" Stein needs to have his bolt tightened, clearly. My eyes meet with Kid's across the yard, and we're both wearing the same expression of 'I didn't sign up for this'.

Sparring with normal weapon forms is one thing. Sparring while in resonance mode is just flat out dangerous, especially for students.

Stein chose Kid and me to spar for a reason though; we're both on equilibrium with our weapons. There's less of a chance of some horrible malfunction or accident that ends with a lawsuit.

"I believe that's what I said," Stein takes another long drag from his cigarette and pushes back to roll out of the path of our spar. "I want a clean fight. The first one to find them self in a compromising position loses."

The crowd of students moves out of the way, surrounding Kid and I in a circular barrier of about a hundred feet. Once again, Kid and I exchange knowing glances. He doesn't want to fight me because he's got that symmetry boner for me. I don't want to fight him because I promised myself a 'get out of effort' free pass for today.

The students begin whispering amongst themselves. "Alright, get into your stances."

Ugh, fine. I've got some unbridled rage I have to release anyways.

I hold Kenji out in front of me, peering at Kid from behind the length of the wielding stick. What kind of stance is that? It's like a gentleman impersonating some Bruce Lee move.

I know Kid's going to go easy on me. He doesn't want to fight me.

Too bad.

"Go!"

Before Kid can even flinch, I hammer Kenji's blade into the ground, sending a ripple of cracks and splits right towards him that threaten to swallow him whole. Kenji may be a close combat weapon, but we've managed to create some distance combat moves.

Kid jumps out of the way of the cracks just as they near an inch from his feet. He looks horrified for a moment, because he clearly wasn't expecting me to take this spar seriously. If I can put his face into a statement, it's 'Are you trying to seriously injure me?' Sorry Reaper Boy, we're not on the same page.

"COME ON KID! ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO GET YOUR ASS KICKED BY A GIRL?"

"Black Star, dude, how many times has Maka beat the living snot out of you?"

"Man, I don't hit girls!"

"What about the time you punched me in the face you idiot!"

"Yeah but you told me to! And girls don't have zero tits like you do-OW SHIT!"

The look of shocked confusion quickly turns into one of determination, accepting my challenge. No holding back on me. Fight me like you mean it.

Kid aims his Death Canons at my feet and the barrels explode with smoke as he pulls the triggers.

This is where my ballet training kicks in. Within a split second of the trigger pull, I push my feet off the ground, jumping and flipping backwards into the air, the ground below me exploding into a crater of black smoke.

"AW YEAH! I TOTALLY SAW PANTIES-YEOOOOOOW TSUBAKI WHAT WAS THAT FOR?"

"Have some decency!"

"Tsubaki, do you need to borrow my Dictionary?"

As my feet touch the ground, Kid re-aims his canons at me. His feet brace himself on either side as I hear the click of the trigger.

This time, I hold Kenji out in front of me and begin to spin him around like a wind mill, creating an effective shield that sends all the canon balls of soul energy flying in different directions.

With a smirk, I begin to run towards him.

I've forgotten how fun it is to fight with passion.

Kid cocks his aim at me once again, but I jump into the air, flying over his head as an array of soul canon balls chase me.

'Man, this feels so fucking great!' I think to Kenji, who is playing the strings of my soul wavelengths.

I land on my heels and swipe the axe, just missing slashing Kid's abdomen as he pulls himself out of the way.

I feel invigorated.

I feel alive.

I'm The Swan.

Kid's face scrunches in distaste and then his mouth pulls up into a smirk as he sends his foot at my face in a roundhouse kick. His heel yanks at a lock of my hair as I back flip and kick my legs as his canons.

We both stumble back from our respective moves, the crowd of students gasping and watching us with unblinking eyes.

I can hear the orchestra in my head. It's _The Barber of Seville_.

Before the laugh I've held in my lungs can escape my lips, I feel Kid suddenly slide past me, aiming a leg to trip me off my stance.

Fast, sneaky bastard.

I jump out of the way, throwing my axe down where Kid's ankle had been millimeters before. The ground cracks and splits upon the impact, sending a cloud of dirt and grass into the air.

I slide back on my heels about fifteen feet away from where Kid lands.

I start sprinting towards him as he shoots a barrage of soul energy in my direction that I narrowly avoid getting hit with.

Kid stands his ground as I once again leap into the air, Kenji thrust over my head as I fall towards my opponent, who cocks his canons at me.

A cloud of black, canon smoke surrounds us. My feet touch the ground.

The smoke dissipates.

The crowd gasps and murmurs.

Stein hums.

The edge of the axe blade is pressed to the swell of Kid's throat.

The barrel of Kid's right canon is against my temple.

I may not have beaten a Grim Reaper, but we're clearly equal in skill.

Kid hums in approval, his liquid gold eyes narrowing at the proud smirk that's planted itself across my jaw.

"Ok, you two have both found yourselves in compromising positions. If this were a real fight, you would both have lost, because both of you would be decapitated," Stein says. Nice description by the way. "I'm calling this a draw."

"Nice moves Reaper Boy."

"Not too bad yourself." The corner of Kid's lips pull upward into a half smile. I hope he realizes his face has lost its symmetry.

Kid's canons flash into twin blue lights, the Thompson sisters reforming at his sides wearing similar expressions.

Kenji's axe form flashes back into violet light and he reshapes back into his human form at my side, clutching at his forehead with a look of agony on his face.

"Kenji? Hey, what's the matter?" My heart begins to speed up in my chest as I hold him by the shoulders.

"I guess it's just been awhile since we've done that," He muffles out through a few 'ah's of pain. Kenji's face is sallow and pale as he peers at me from the corner of his glasses. His pupils are dilated. "It's just a headache."

Liz rushes over to Kenji's other side, her expression grim and frightened. "Kenji, come on, you look terrible!" She tugs at his arm, but he refuses to budge.

I hear the heavy thuds of Stein's shoes as he rushes over to us.

Kenji doubles over, muffling heavy, throaty coughs with the palm of his hand.

Something physically clicks in my head.

I look at Kid, my expression of panic reflecting in his black pupils. He looks nervous. Patti's face is a portrait of concerned bewilder, her mouth gaping in a small 'O' as she watches her sister stand Kenji up.

"Liz, take Kenji to the nurse," Stein pushes past Kid and Patti to get a look at Kenji, his cigarette now burning close to the filter that's sticking out of his teeth. He turns to me, his eyes narrow in accusation. "What happened?"

Have you ever been in a position where you didn't know if you did something wrong or not? Did you cause the shelf of your mom's collection of porcelain unicorns to collapse when you picked up the glass figure standing on his hooves, or did the nails just give out? Did the dog get out because you didn't close the gate all the way or did he dig a whole under then fence?

My sight shifts from observing Liz walk Kenji back to the school, Kid's nervous twist to his face, and Stein looking at me as if I stuck a dirty needle into my cousin's arm.

"I-I don't know," My nerves are starting to jump under my skin. "He seemed fine in weapon form!"

"Class, stay here, I'm going with Liz and Kenji," Stein gives the class a warning glance. "No funny business!"

I faintly smell blood.

A flash of Cain's possessive expression crosses my mind.

I watch blankly as Stein, Liz, and Kenji grow smaller the farther away they are in the distance.

My heart begins an irregular pattern of beating.

I feel a sense of dream overcome me. My stomach twists as the smell of blood grows stronger, sharply iron in taste with a hint of hysteria. My God it stinks. Maybe this is the smell of 'love in the air' Liz was talking about.

"Do you smell that?" I say to Kid, who brushes up against my shoulder.

"Smell what?"

How can he not smell that? It's fucking disgusting! I cover my mouth and nose with my hand in effort to block out the smell that's starting to make me gag.

But Kid only looks more confused.

No. The smell of blood is stronger.

_Hey there doll face._

_She's never going to wake up you know._

_Rage, Pride, Greed, Gluttony, Sloth, Envy, and Lust._

_What, you don't recognize yourself?_

_I'm the real you._

It's in my head. It's me. It's my blood that reeks.

I can't swallow it back down.

I hear someone gasp. It's Maka. "No…no way."

It's not working, I can't suppress it anymore.

My heart is festering in a bath of black blood.

She's dancing along the notches of my spine, making her way up the length of the spinal chord. She's eating away at my brain stem, chewing a cozy little nook to live in.

You've seen _The Exorcist_ before, right?

I'm being possessed by my inner demon.

"Emily! Emily, what's wrong?"

It's not Kid's hand taking a hold of my shoulder. It's wasn't Kid's hand that grabbed at my breast. It wasn't Kid's hand sliding along my waist.

I need to puke.

"I have to go…" I make off sprinting for the building, nearly tripping several times as my head throbs with violating pain. I feel filthy, oh so filthy.

"EMILY! WAIT!"

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

The hall ways are empty. Everyone is in their respective classes.

I don't realize that I'm winded until I come to a stop at the intersection of the North and South halls. I've been trailing after her, but the one second I took my eye off of her to fix a crookedly hanging plaque on the wall, I lost her.

With Maka's collective gasp of horror, I realized then what was going on.

The mysterious stringed presence in Emily's soul was growing, slowly turning the thing black in a fight for dominance.

In the bluntest way possible to describe exactly what was going on, the parasite was _eating_ her soul.

The air of madness I've been chasing is coming form the North hallway, and I as turn round the corner, I feel it getting stronger and stronger with each stride I fulfill.

It was black blood; horribly _altered _black blood.

That's why Kenji fell ill after resonating with Emily. She infected him with mutated black blood. I do hope he is okay.

"Emily! Emily!"

I hear the sound of a strangled moan, like the whimper of a kitten with a broken neck.

I turn to my right; the girl's lavatory. She's in there. It's reeking of madness to the point I almost don't want to know what exactly is behind the door. It doesn't feel human.

With a deep breath, I slowly push the oak wood door open.

"Emily."

She's sitting on the tiled floor, her back to me, still to the point I have to question if I'm seeing a mirage or if my eyes are telling my brain the truth.

It's powerful, the madness radiating off of her, crashing in waves. I step into the bathroom, cautiously and quietly.

Emily doesn't sense my presence. Not a flinch. Not a twitch. Not a turn. Nothing. It could be Black Star crashing through the ceiling, and I doubt she would even react.

Why do I keep referring to the body on the floor as 'Emily'? It's not her. It looks like her, but as far as I can tell, it's a creature I don't want to come into close contact with.

I take a quick look at my reflection in the sink mirrors.

The blood drained from my face along time ago. I look sallow and _scared_.

I finally crouch down, eye level with the unmoving girl body on the floor. Her eyes are wide and dry, staring off into nothingness. She isn't blinking and she appears not to have blinked for minutes.

It's as if I'm not even here.

"E-Emily?" I reach my hand out to her cheek and I can't tell if she's even alive. She's a doll left to sit in the middle of the room.

I can't feel Emily Valentine in the room. Something is overpowering her.

As the tips of my finger brush against the swell of her cheek, she flinches back, blinking rapidly and breathing quick and heavy. This isn't her, it's an empty shell.

"Emily! Answer me!" I know she's gone, but my hands act on their own, grabbing her by the shoulders and violently shaking her as if that's going to make anything change.

She's being eaten alive. Whatever it is, it's _eating _her.

"I was perfect today. Why can't I just beat you?"

My eyes widen as she speaks, her voice soft as a whisper as it passes through her lips.

But she isn't talking to me. Her eyes are still unfocused, staring into nothingness, her head in a completely different reality than the current one.

Please, bright angel, speak to me.

"_!uoy naht retteb si lrig daed flah a ,ynnuF .ycuL elttil roop ot ecnad taht evag yehT ?rebmemer ,nawS ehT detcefrep reven uoY_"

If I had not just seen her lips moving, I would assume I have completely lost my sanity.

Emily's voice is shriveled and cold, sounding sickeningly childish and evil in its strange foreign language. It's not her. It's the parasite. And the parasite is speaking the same language as the Clown in Saint Sebastian's.

"_!tnaw I sa hcum sa uoy morf mrof lacisyhp siht gnikat eb ll'I ,ti wonk uoy erofeB .llew sa sniev ym hguorht snur doolb ruoy taht tcaf eht erongi t'nac uoy tub ,gnol siht rof tuo gnidloh rof tiderc uoy evig ll'I .evlove I .erawa fles m'I .eiteews muiriled fo esac ro ulf emos ton m'I ?tahw ro diputs gnikcuf uoy era ,doG dnA_"

The door to the wardrobe of skeletons is wide open. The whole time, she was suffering far more than I ever could have imagined. Oh, Emily. You were trying to protect people from _yourself_ the entire time.

No. This isn't you. You're still in there somewhere, you must be.

Just talk, please.

"Where are they?"

She's still in her trance, but at least there's a shard of her humanity left. My hands glide up along her shoulders to hold her neck. The skin of her throat is soft and warm to my fingertips, though straining with rigidity. Funny, every time I touch her she's either unconscious or I'm dreaming.

But who are 'they'?

"_?wonk uoy ,devoleb sih no sbat peek ot sah niaC .yenoh kniht uoy naht resolC_"

If only I could know what the voice is saying. My heart aches in my chest at this brutal, horrible, tragic truth before me.

And my father knew the whole time. Nobody tried to save her.

"You're all monsters."

How much more of this do I have to withstand? My fingers tangle in her red tresses, soft and beautiful that I've always wanted to brush.

Please, wake up.

Emily's lips curl upward into an inhuman, slit like grin. "_!enitnelaV ylimE ma I .nopu uoy rof evol sih dewotseb niaC tfig eht ma I .detanracnier ssendam ma I .yresim fo noitatsefinam eht ma I_"

No.

No. Wait a minute. She isn't speaking in another language.

The voice is speaking English, _backwards_.

"Emily! Emily come on! Snap out of it!" I grab her by the chin so hard it's most likely going to leave purple bruises where my fingers are digging into her jaw. Her eyes won't look at me, I want her to look at me so bad. I want her to start laughing at me for being so foolish. Tell me you like my hair. Pull out a cigarette. Dance with me again.

"_!erom hcum os eb nac uoy dna em nioJ .namuh er'uoy esuaceB ?yhW .noitatpmet fo tiurf eht tsiser t'ndluoc evE ,rebmemeR .dnuorg eht ot ti tnrub uoY .nedE ruoy tsol uoY_"

The voice crescendos into a horrifying caterwaul, Emily's lips snarling back into her gums.

I can't take it anymore, and for once, I don't know how to balance anything out.

I'm desperate I suppose.

"Dammit Emily snap out of it!"

My hand flies so fast that I don't have time to think about what I'm doing. My palm makes hard contact with her cheek, the slap echoing through the vacant bathroom that makes me feel like complete trash. I don't hit girls. I don't want to hit girls. Not only is it unrefined, but it's cowardly.

I didn't want to ruin her perfect facial symmetry. I never want to hurt Emily. I want to protect her.

Emily's face flies back upon the impact, her cheek instantly red with the print of my hand.

I hold my villainous hand out in front of me, looking at it with a sense of disgust. I want to chop it off. I'll live as an asymmetrical freak with one hand. That's a fitting punishment for ruining such beauty.

I look back to Emily.

Her hand is nursing her reddened cheek, a look of bewilderment on her face.

It's her again. The demon crawled back into her skin. Her soul isn't black anymore.

"Emily, I'm so sorry-"

"I feel sick." She says, her eyes glancing up at me with a dazed trauma.

Without another word, she crawls over and into the closet bathroom stall.

There's a strangled gag and then the sound of vomit splashing into the toilet bowl.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

Yeah, this chapter is LONG overdue. School has been crazy. I got into my top two colleges on scholarship so I'm completely stoked. Midterms are over on Wednesday so things won't be as hectic after that and I'll be back to updating about once or more a week.

This chapter disturbs me for many reasons. You've got your psychological trauma playing out, Kid _hitting _a girl (I'm so sorry), and puke.

Hi guys I want to be a professional writer have some puking girls.

And I also suck at fighting scenes. But we know that!

Playlist:

**Seven Devils by Florence + the Machine**

**No Wow by The Kills**

**Girl with One Eye by Florence + the Machine**

**The Barber of Seville by ****Gioachino Rossini**

**The Swam by Camille Saint-Saens**

**Crank Heart by Xiu Xiu**

I like the reviews guys! They help convince me that I'm not writing Mary Sue crap and actually contributing quality to this fandom.

- Nicole


	9. Tell You a Lie

"_Half of it is innocent  
>The other half is wise<br>The whole damn thing makes no sense  
>I wish I could tell you a lie<br>Hey, come here  
>Let me whisper in your ear<em>

_I hate myself and I want to die_."

**- Cat Power, 'Hate'**

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<br>**

While I started puking my brains out into the toilet, a thought crossed my mind. Or rather, two thoughts.

The first thought was, 'Why the hell did I decide today of all days to have an egg and spinach breakfast sandwich?' I'm telling you, my regurgitated breakfast was literally toxic fumes.

The second thought was, 'I don't want to be alone.'

Kid gathered my hair back as the final urges of dry heaving left me slumped over the toilet bowl. "I'm not going back to class."

After I had finished washing the taste of stomach bile out of my mouth, I went to the infirmary to tell Kenji I was cutting early. Kid followed close behind.

With a cigarette burning between his lips, Stein told me he was keeping him for overnight observation. Kenji had come down with a bout of vertigo and was in the middle of filling a barf bag. He made an offhand comment of a 'nasty stomach bug' going around that I could tell was complete bullshit.

I told Kid that I didn't want to go back to an empty apartment that felt nothing like home. I didn't expect him to take me back to his mansion.

So here I am, soaking away in this huge, porcelain clawed bath tub, in probably one of many of the bathrooms here at Gallows Manor, trying to wash away the stink of puke and shame from my skin and hair.

To say I feel like crap is an absolute understatement. To say I feel like royal shit would be pretty accurate.

That said, I'll describe to you the grand state of this bathroom. It's literally the size of my parent's kitchen, and with all the cooking we did, we had a pretty big kitchen. Granted, the size can probably be attributed to the fact that this is the master bathroom.

Yes, I am in Death the Kid's bathroom. Naked. And I really wish I brought my Marlboro's with me.

To no surprise to anyone, everything is symmetrical. This tub is sitting in the middle of the room. The toilet and the sink are on opposite sides of the room to maintain 'balance' I suppose (God, what a pain in the ass the plumbing must be.) The floor is crisp, snow white tiles that are shined so brilliantly I could see my reflection perfectly. But no, the best part is the fucking chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Who the hell has a crystal chandelier in their bathroom? Death the Kid does ladies and gentlemen. So now you know.

But enough about The Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous Teen Cribs Edition, if I weren't so concerned about the stroke Kid would probably have, I'd be drowning myself in this tub. Dead chicks aren't very good for symmetry.

Neither Kid nor I talked to each other on the walk to Gallows Manor, but I could feel him sneaking glances at me. I kept my eyes trained on the distant vanishing point.

I only spoke up to tell Kid I wanted to take a bath. I felt dirty in more ways than one. He blushed a little but he led me to his master bath. What a gentleman.

I run my fingers through my freshly washed, conditioned, and rinsed hair. It smells like pomegranate, with the wonderful second note of barf. I wonder if I reek as bad as I think I do.

There's a knock at the door. "Emily? It's me, Kid. I-I uh, brought you a change of clothes," He sounds nervous and flustered. Granted, this is probably the first time he's had a naked girl using his bathroom, unless you count the Thompsons, who are pretty much his sisters. "C-can I come in?"

I shift my knees up to my soapy chest, water softly splashing against the porcelain insides of the tub. "Yeah, sure."

The door opens. Kid's got what looks like a pair of mini shorts, a grey tank top, and some undergarments piled under his arm. His other arm is effectively shielding his eyes, so he's basically walking blindly towards me.

I wrap my arms around my legs. "You're going to kill yourself doing that. You can look, I'm not putting on a peep show or anything."

To be honest, I don't mind being naked. It's kind of in correlation of how I don't like wearing pants. I hate being constricted.

Kid mumbles something and pulls his arms away from his eyes. His face flushes bright red as his gaze falls upon me and he promptly looks away, either because he's too embarrassed or he's trying to hide the redness in his cheeks.

Poor guy, he really doesn't have a clue what he's doing. "You can just put the clothes on the toilet I guess."

He nods and walks over to place the folded pile of clothes on the toilet lid, nearly dropping everything on the way there. "Liz and Patti won't mind. I spoke with them. Patti is more of your size, so just give them back to her when you don't need them anymore."

Kid turns back over his shoulder, blushing again upon catching sight of me in the tub. He stands back up straight and starts making his way towards the door. "Sorry for interrupting you."

This is as good of a chance as any. "Do you know about the Book of Eibon?"

He stops dead in his tracks, his hand frozen in its reach for the door knob. The air is suddenly as tense as it is humid.

Kid turns back to me, with the cliché expression of having just seen a ghost plastered on his face. I notice his Adam's Apple bob with a swallow. "Yes."

I really, really, really want a cigarette.

I grip my fingers in the folds of my legs. "Good, so I don't have to waste any time explaining that."

Kid's hand drops back to his side, standing there as if I just said I wanted him to check if my boobs are symmetrical.

Yes, it's finally time I illuminate some light on my little predicament. I have some explaining to do for him. He's far too modest to ask me at this point.

As if knows what I'm going to ask, he walks over to the left side of the tub and sits, the blush in his cheeks still sanguine. His eyes are trying to drift any which way but at my bare skin.

Bless me father, for I have sinned. And you're going to be here awhile, so I'd cancel on the Priest Sunday night football game right now if I were you.

"I might as well tell you the whole, ugly truth," There's a pang in my stomach like I haven't eaten in hours. Oh yeah, I tossed my cookies up an hour ago. "You want to know why I'm here and what happened to me, right?"

That blush isn't going anywhere by the looks of it. Kid merely nods.

Again, I could really use a cigarette right now. Hell, I'd take some crack right now if it were offered to me.

"Once upon a time, I was the shining star of Shibusen International Network Technical School. I was a meister prodigy and part time ballerina. The city was at my finger tips and I could do no wrong," I look into the foggy reflection of light in the bath water. "Then one day, I met a boy named Cain Iscariot, and he had a proposition for me. He and his two friends, Noah and Gopher, were a traveling militia working to infiltrate and bring an end to the black market trade of human souls.

"Between drugs and organs, human souls are the most profitable stuff on the black market. Half the stuff people do with them is some of the most despicable things you can ever imagine. However, the trafficking of human souls is the most dangerous trade to infiltrate into. What Cain's group needed was a top skilled meister who could help them permeate the illegal trade and put an end to it. It was supposed to be this huge, exciting project and I realized I would be crazy to pass up on it. This was the chance for me to finally create a legacy of my own. Cain told me there was to be a big boom in the market within the next two weeks. Sure enough, two weeks later, Asura broke out of his skin bag," I suppress a chill that runs down my spine. The bath water is starting to lose its warmth. I'm getting heavy and water logged. "It was like they knew what was going to happen, you know? In hindsight, it really should've bothered me more than it did."

I sneak a glance back to Kid. He's not blushing anymore. He's anticipating. He's trying to solve the puzzle before I give away the answer. He's thinking up of all the worst possible things I could reveal, that I'm into the occult, or that I'm on a steady diet of human souls, or that I sold my soul on the black market. None of those things I've named are relatively close.

"Within a week of Asura's revival, I got Cain and his crew involved with SIN. Everyone was fucking scared, and we just turned to whatever help we could find to regain some kind of control. Kenji knew what I was doing, but I refused to get him involved. He didn't need to, because I came to be Cain's meister as well. He was an autonomous weapon, a golden sniper rifle to be exact, and shit the amount of mob bosses I picked off with him in my hands." I shake my head. I notice Kid's starting to look…sad. And I don't mean the kind of sad that comes with not being able to get your picture frames to center evenly. Nope, that's real gloom and doom written in his golden irises.

"My job was to infiltrate the cartels and then hit the bosses, which meant the gaining of their kishin souls and their inventory of human souls. Killing two birds with one stone, you know? Gopher told me the recovered human souls were being sent here, for your father to take care of," Sadly, it's only in hindsight that we realize the pure stupidity of our actions. The people we hate the most are who we used to be, if that means anything. "I didn't question it. I thought I was doing good. I was living the dream."

My stomach is twisting and turning with knots. God, Kid is not going to like the next thing I have to say. If anything, this part will probably kill him. But he deserves to know the real me, the me I used to be, the foolish little girl who believed in love.

I breathe a sigh. "At some point during that time, Cain and I began a romantic relationship." Someone, please hold my head under water until my eyes roll back into their sockets. I sneak another glance at Kid, to which I quickly look away because my God I've never felt so fucking low in my entire life. If I hadn't thrown up the entire contents of my stomach, I'd be making a mess all over this pretty white tiled floor. His face has dropped, like I've just told him I killed his cat. Actually, I'd feel better if I just told him I killed someone's house hold pet right now.

"Eventually, he convinced me to get my best friend Lucy Wallace involved. Lucy was a certified genius, and our crew needed a research assistant. Apparently, a tip came in that Arachne, who had a majority of the black market souls in her stock, and was basically in charge of the whole business, had possession of the Book of Eibon, which she planned to use while the whole world was in fucking chaos and the market was booming. I thought it was going to be the foray to end all forays and I blindly let them take my best fucking friend." I fist my hand in my damp bangs. Lucy, who is all the way on the other side of the country half dead because I was wrapped around some guy's finger; And I call myself a feminist.

Breathe, Emily, breathe. To think hardcore Catholics do this kind of confessing on a daily basis. "By the time Asura was defeated, I began to suspect that something wasn't right about the whole operation. My orders never came from anyone in the position to give them. Noah was our leader, but he said we were being given the assignments by your father. So I began to do some research with Lucy."

I can't look away from Kid anymore. Please, absolve me from my sins whilst I'm wet and completely naked. I can't get more helpless than this. Hand me my judgment. "I found out that we were actually not acting upon the orders of your father. No one here had ever even heard of Noah, Cain, or Gopher. There was no record of them _anywhere_. In fact, I wasn't involved in an operation to salvage human souls off the black market. In reality, I was picking off the competition and stealing their stocks."

I bite my lip. My throat clenches around the dry lump that's formed like a dry cough drop. "What we were really doing was creating a new kishin to succeed Asura."

Kid's eyes widen, gaping with an audible, quick gasp. I was afraid he would react like that. But he isn't interrupting or moving to slap me in the face again. I suppose I can continue. "Noah was actually working under Arachne and of course, turned on her. He called himself 'Noah of Eibon', recognizing himself as a fucking prophet, claiming it was his job to build the true God of Madness. Asura was doomed from the start of his revival apparently, being too flawed to ever bring about true Madness and take the place as a God. So Noah, Gopher, and Cain set about to create a being worthy enough to take Asura's place. Those human souls were being used to create a monster.

"But what Cain did was worse. Cain, you see, was playing with black magic. I don't know how he was able to pick up on witches business, but I know it has something to do with that fucking book. He was using Medusa Gorgon's plans and research on black blood, which he was able to snag while Noah was working under her sister. He manufactured a form of black blood that would be self-aware and parasitic. The blood was going to be used for the new kishin."

I feel a droplet of water drips slide down my spine. The tension is so tight in this room you can pluck it with a pick. "Lucy and I were being played for suckers. So we decided we had to stop them. Noah, Gopher, and Cain had set up headquarters in SIN, so that's where we went. We were going to destroy all the evidence and get rid of them before anyone else would get hurt." My heart beat's slowed to an inhuman thumping in my chest, like I'm seconds away from keeling over, dead as a door nail.

"We didn't plan on being ambushed. As for what you saw back in the girl's bathroom, that's Cain's handiwork. He injected everyone, Lucy and I included with black blood. However he gave the kishin my blood in return, the blood of a meister, and the last ingredient his little experiment needed. Lucy had managed to pick the lock of her restraint and we broke free. The new blood made Lucy and I compatible partners, and we figured we might as well just burn the fucking school down with them in it, let her fire give them their martyr bullshit. The whole fucking place lit up so quickly we thought we were home free. No. God, we were only feet away from the door when Cain shot her. That bastard. " My vision blurs, and there are hot tears building up along the rims of my eyes. I haven't cried since that day.

I'm riding in the back of the ambulance. I'm screaming and crying. Lucy isn't moving. The doctors are trying to stop the bleeding. The bullet severed one of her arteries. No one is listening to me. I'm angry.

That anger has since manifested into all this unbridled self loathing that's streaming down my cheeks.

"I tried to tell the doctors what had happened to my blood, that something was wrong and _living _inside of me. All the blood work came back negative for abnormalities. Cain had manipulated the black blood so that it could disguise itself as my own blood. It's undetectable. The only logical medical explanation was that I was crazy," My guts are twisting this way and that, like they want to slither out of my mouth. "For a moment I even began to question my own sanity. Then the blood told me that Cain, Noah, and Gopher were still alive. I assumed the three bodies that were pulled from the wreckage were them. I foolishly thought I'd won. Well, with some black magic you can make any freshly buried corpse fit a vague depiction of what your charred remains would looks like.

"I had a psychotic break, technically speaking. I spent a month in the hospital because everyone was afraid I was going to off myself," I find my hands gripping tightly on the edges of the bathtub, so tight that the bones of my knuckles are ready to split the tautly pulled skin apart. "Do you understand now why I can't get you or anyone else involved in this? I'm a liability to everyone and anyone around me, and I'm the only person on this planet who can stop them before the whole world fucking falls apart! Why do you think your father let me come here after what I'd done? If I didn't have the only connection to such danger I'd be marked as a traitor!"

"That's not true Emily! Don't you dare say that!"

My heart clenches in my chest.

The water is cold.

Kid's standing over me, his hands fisted at his side, a look of sheer disgust on his face. "None of what happened was your fault! You were lied to! My father would never, ever consider what happened to you as traitorous, and it's noisome you would even think like that."

But he doesn't sound horrified. His voice isn't angry at what I've done.

He's angry at what I've done to _myself_.

My hands slowly slip from the tub edges and plop back into the cold bathwater. "So you believe me, huh?" I lean back, my knees still pressed tight to my chest. "I'm sorry for not being something fixable. I can't take chances of hurting anymore people. This is my battle to fight."

Kid is looking at me with the kind of expression used to talk people off of tenth story window ledges. The kind of expression found when you watch someone wrap a noose around their neck.

His voice comes out soft as a whisper. "Emily?"

"What?"

He slowly lifts his right arm above his shoulder…

And tomahawks me in the fucking head.

"The hell was that for!" No, I'm not kidding. He just fucking _karate_ _chopped _me in the head. "Have you lost your mind?"

As if him smacking me in the face didn't hurt enough already. Christ he hits hard.

Kid shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers, looking down on me with eyes dark and narrow. "That was the Shinigami Chop. My father uses it on people who are acting particularly absurd, myself included. You may think you're being noble, but what you really are doing is isolating yourself on an endless guilt trip," I notice his hands fisting under the fabric of his pockets. "Emily, in the two weeks I've known you a day has not gone by where I don't think of you in some fashion. There's this compulsive need within me that draws me to you, and you make me feel as if I drag behind."

My mouth is slack jawed. There's a lump on the top of my head starting to throb. "I'm not about to let you repent with a meaningless sacrifice when there's nothing for you to atone for. As a Grim Reaper, I won't stand to allow someone with such beauty and potential to throw themselves away like that." My eyes follow closely as he walks to the door, placing a tight hand on the knob.

"Regardless of what happened or what your blood is tainted with, you're still Emily Valentine, and I want to be by your side because I am infatuated with you," Kid briefly looks over his shoulder one last time at me, the faintest of a blush creeping back onto the apples of his cheeks. "By the way, your breasts are visually symmetrical."

Oh.

My legs were cramping me at some point during his spiel. Thank you, conveniently long, wet hair for giving me some amount of decency in the failure of my own manual awareness.

"Hey wait a minu-!"

But he's already closed the door behind him.

And now the entire weight of everything is balancing between my shoulder blades.

I feel angry. Melancholy. Ineffable. Exposed.

Enlightened.

I unplug the drain.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

It's a quarter past midnight.

My eyes refuse to stay closed. Any progress in trying to fall to sleep is hindered by a sudden wave of discomfort in the pit of my stomach.

After completing her bath, Emily went straight to the guest room I had provided for her.

She didn't emerge for the rest of the night, though every time I made my way past the oak door, I could hear to soft beating of footsteps pacing around the room. I don't have an answer for how to balance someone who flat out refuses help. And as hard as it was to get a grip on, I realized that I had to give Emily the choice as to whether to take a hold of my hand or turn her back on it.

At some point whilst I was cleaning the dishes after dinner, Liz and Patti decided they were going to try their hand at reasoning with the 'caged' creature.

"Kid, you lack a _woman's touch_. Duh, she's not going to rant and rave about whatever is bothering her! We girls are in synch with each other. Why do you think women run advice columns?"

"I wanna do an advice column sis! 'I advise you to get a job!' Grrrrr!"

I bit my tongue to stop from blurting out that the problem wasn't akin to the type of issues teen magazines solve on a monthly issue. What was told to me in the confines of my bathroom was meant to stay between the two of us.

A half hour later the sisters popped into the library where I had retreated with a copy of _A Clockwork Orange_. Upon my inquiry about what the situation entailed, though I am still positive Emily hadn't spilled herself in the same manner as earlier, Liz laughed.

"Sorry, girl talk is between girls. Otherwise what's the use? If you want to know, get off your bony butt and go talk to her."

Despite my earlier realization, at one point before going to bed I found myself standing before the guest room door with my hand in midair, debating the pros and cons in my head. I heard a heavy sigh slip out from under the door, and I left it at that.

Other than misaligned college ruled paper, off balance lamp shades, and asymmetrical whatnots, there is nothing I have come to face that has rendered me incapable of knowing how to begin handling it. Girl really ought to come equipped with a manual or instructions.

It isn't Emily's past that scares me. No, what terrifies me is that she is so thoroughly convinced that sacrificing her soul, her sanity, and her life is the only way to make things right. To be holding something of that emotional weight in for so long frankly disturbs me. She didn't think she was worthy enough of strength.

And then there are the things I said. As I watched her peel away layer by layer, to the very point I was seriously afraid she was going to hold herself down under the bath water, the emotion in my heart reached a forte. Everything I said was true, and there is no taking it back. It's the waiting for any kind of answer in regards to a confession of love that has my mind in overdrive.

Of course, there was also the wonderful sight of symmetrical breasts. Sadly, I'm not enjoying that as much as I should be considering the fragile circumstances.

I look at the bedside clock again. Twelve twenty nine. Twenty nine is a prime number. I loathe prime numbers.

Suddenly, the door to my bedroom squeaks open, a sliver of light filtering into the room before disappearing at the close of the door.

It's not Liz. She tends to either knock or burst into the room complaining about why I went into her room and organized her closet.

It's definitely not Patti. Believe me, she isn't this quiet in any circumstance.

My muscles clench as the right side of the bed dips, and I try desperately to fiend sleep on the left half of my body. The blankets are being folded and pulled back as the body slips in silently beside me.

Yes, tonight is going to be sleepless night of faking sleep.

"I know you're awake," Emily croons softly, her breath blowing hot on the nape of my neck. "You're a really awful faker."

Oh well. "What, uh, w-what are you doing here? Not that I mind or anything…" I can't bring myself to turn around. She'll vanish and never come back if I do, like Cupid and Psyche.

"I don't want to be alone anymore."

At this, I roll over onto my back, and as I turn my head to face her, my nose buries itself in a soft lock of hair.

With what little light is coming from the partings in the window drapes, I can see the darkened features of sincere, copper eyes, pierced, parted lips, and the curved tops of breasts rising under a tank top.

Patti's tank top that says '_Juicy Stole Your Boyfriend'_ bedazzled in rhinestones. A poorly blind choice, but at least it's not the distasteful '_Peel Me Like a Banana'_ shirt.

"I also thought about what you said," She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth for a second, snuggling her cheek into my satin pillow case I hope will retain the decadent scent of her hair. "And while I still think you're making a big mistake with me, I can't deny that you were genuine in what you said."

There's a dip of weight by my knee as Emily's leg moves closer to mine under the covers.

"You've made every possible effort to reach out to me and I've pushed you away like a complete bitch. You're right, I'm stubborn and I'm too righteous and I've got some serious issues to work out," She pauses to catch her breath. "And with all the funny looks people gave me today, it's fair to say I'm not going to be able to run from things any longer."

Maka had texted me earlier.

_Please give me a call. It's urgent._

It's like a communicable disease. The past comes to haunt everyone you touch.

"Do you think Kenji, is, well, infected?"

Well, that was about the worst thing to ask.

Emily shivers for a moment as if my words carried a cold breeze. She draws a fist to her cheek. "I don't know. I've been keeping that part from him, which he really never believed in the first case because he's too logical to comprehend anything crazy. If I give him one more reason to worry about me I think he's going age thirty years."

The wind whistles outside. "But my father knows?"

"And now you know too."

My father has reasons for the things he does; Preventing a panic so early in the post-Asura world, keeping the issue a covert and underground operation until it becomes too big to hold down, give Emily some sense of security and normalcy back into her life.

But I can't help the disgust I feel for the fact that my father almost let Emily throw herself over the edge.

"So what are you going to do?"

Emily rolls over onto her back, a heavy sigh sprouting from her mouth. "Well, I have to tell your father that I couldn't suppress the blood. Their fucking science project is getting stronger, and they're got some new proselytes following their crazy asses. They've got the Book of Eibon. They're biding their time until they can get their hands on BREW, and get me back of course. I think trial by fire pissed them off," She rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands, and I feel the just how tense every fiber of her being is being pulled by the subtle twitch of her arms. "We're going to have no choice but to get the Death Scythes and DWMA top ranking officials involved. Fucking cover-ups suck man."

I think for a moment. Emily's guard is finally down, and I can't feel a hint of resistance in her answers. "Did you know Saint Sebastian's was one of their hideouts?"

"No. I didn't know until we got there that something wasn't normal. Lord Death has been sending crews to trace their tracks under the story that there's a teen witch coven road tripping across the country. I guess they started moving faster than he predicted," Her copper eyes, which are blending with the blacks of her pupils, sneak a glance at me. "That Clown was one of their experiments. A God needs an army after all."

These are the seeds of war Emily and my father have been so desperately trying to put an end to. It's a game of cat and mouse that's been going on under my nose this entire time.

I really hate being left out of things.

"I want to help you get revenge."

Emily plops herself up on her forearm, her face returning back a stiff mask. "Well I still think you're fucking stupid and have a death wish," Her voice whispers harshly, loud enough that she may just as well be screaming. "Kid, they _know _where I am. It's only a matter of time until they come for me, and they will use _anyone _against me. You're Lord Death's son for crying out loud! You might as well wear a shirt that says 'Hi, Are You Looking for Someone to Take Hostage?'"

I can't stifle the chuckle that escapes my throat. And by the way Emily's brow furrows, my nervous laughter wasn't well received. "I'm also a Grim Reaper, a Shinigami, and a future Lord of Death. If I can defeat a kishin God I can deal with three zealots."

"They also ruthlessly put my best friend in a coma. Believe me, if you were meant to get involved with this, your father would've given you the heads up."

Emily's face cranes forward just enough that the upper half of her face is illuminated in the sliver of light, and thought I feel the urge to push her back into the monochrome cover of the dark, there's a certain beauty the illumination brings to her face. For a second she is Lady Lilith's ghostly portrait, and my heart skips a beat at the haunting similarity. "I'm not asking you for permission to help you. I'm getting myself involved whether you like it or not."

I'm really quite shocked when Emily slumps back under the covers without a word of argument. She's tired. She's tired of being alone, she's tired of carrying dead weight, and she's tired of fighting me back.

"God, and you think _I'm _stubborn. Speak for yourself and your symmetry complex."

We lie side by side together in silence for a few lengthy moments, the sounds of our languid breathing our only form of communication.

Two stubborn people in each other's company. Two melancholy people in their melancholy worlds.

"So you're 'enamored' with me huh?"

Well, I'm going to take that as my cue to crawl under my covers.

"So it's really so embarrassing that you're trying to hide yourself in your own bed, huh?"

Oh no, I just prefer to sleep completely covered in bedding. Still, I can't keep in a groan. Even with the cover of darkness, the flush of my cheeks is so strong I'm positive she'll be able to feel the heat radiating from my face.

And there goes my cover sheets with a yank of Emily's hand.

"You know that a romantic relationship is something I should be completely avoiding right now, right?" She looks saddened by her own words, almost reluctant in having to speak them in the first place.

I turn over onto my side to face the other side of my room. The sting of flat out rejection in my own bed? I hope I don't spill blood on my sheets. I've been dirtying them enough as it is.

But I stiffen as a warm hand places itself around my wrist.

"Thank you."

At this, I crane my neck around to meet half lidded, sincere eyes, the look of bafflement on my face pulling the corners of Emily's mouth up into a small smile.

This is definitely not how imagined the first time having a girl in my bed would be like.

"Why?"

The hand around my wrist pulls me over onto my back.

"Because I know you're not going to give up on me. That's all I want right now."

It's the first stepping stone towards something more. It's a flicker of hope for a favorable future. It's not a relationship, but it's a start.

I pull my wrist through Emily's loosened grip to enclose our hands together.

I think I can finally drift off to sleep now.

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

For God's sake, does Kenji think the world is going to stop making hoodies one day or something? Was there some huge blow out sale as American Apparel?

No, I'm being completely serious. His _entire _closet is packed wall to wall with about a hundred fucking hooded sweatshirts.

I hook my fingers in the neck of a grey Supreme sweatshirt, which I struggle to pull completely out as Kenji's closet is literally this tightly crammed with sweater wear.

I hear drawers being opened.

"Kid, I swear if you're rearranging everything in my cousin's bureau when I turn around I'm going to punch you on one side of your face and one side only."

I hear the sound of eight drawers being simultaneously shoved closed. "Well he should really consider organizing her shirts according to the color spectrum." Kid says with a very audible slump.

I tuck Kenji's sweatshirt over my arm along side the shirt, pants, and boxers I've picked out. I feel bad, Kenji really doesn't like having to sleep in his school clothes.

"Thank Kenji that he even folds and puts his clothes away in the first place," I say, making my way over to Kid in the threshold of the doorway. "Can you hold his clothes for a second while I get something from my room?"

Kid nods as I shove the small pile of clothes into his arms and turn into my room.

I start rummaging through my bed side drawer and quickly retrieve the orange bottle of Prozac.

Prescribed by Doctor/Professor Frank Stein for Emily L. Valentine.

Take two in the morning. Don't take on an empty stomach or while operating heavy machinery.

May cause drowsiness.

"Are those pills?" Kid asks from the doorway.

"You betcha," I close the drawer with a bump of my hip. "Antidepressants to be exact."

Kid gives me a quizzical look as I walk past him shaking the bottle of pills in my hand like a rattle.

"I wasn't lying to you about the PTSD to answer your unasked question." Kid follows closely behind me as I walk into the kitchen. "Let me just take these and then we can go." I say, reaching for a glass on the top shelf of the cupboard. Even in heels I'm still too damn short to reach shit. I'm five two if you're wondering.

As I run the tap water to fill the glass, Kid coughs and strolls over to my side.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

I cock an eyebrow. "Yeah…what?" Really, you'd think after having the heart to hearts we had the other night he wouldn't be nervous talking to me anymore.

On an additional note, bed head is the bane of Kid's existence.

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. God do I hate childproof caps. "Well, you remember how my birthday is at the end of the month, right?"

No, I loathe child proof caps. Fucking OPEN. "Yeah, Halloween." The lid pops off with frustrating ease. Oh, you have to _push _it down first and _then _turn the cap.

I pop two pills onto my tongue and bring the rim of the glass of water between my lips.

"Well, I'm having a fairly extravagant party at Gallows Manor. All of Death City and DWMA is going to be invited. While at most parties I take Liz and Patti as my so-called 'dates'," He makes visible quotation marks with his fingers. "Seeing as Liz has taken an interest in Kenji and Patti tends to stalk the food table, I was, uh, I was wondering if…"

I swallow and empty the remaining contents of the glass into the sink. "You want me to be your date, is that it?"

Kid looks scattered for a moment before blinking rapidly in response. "Well, would you?"

I sigh, and as I'm about to give my response, The Kills start going off in the front pocket of my backpack on the kitchen counter.

What a fucking John Hughes moment.

I can see Kid's expression of annoyance out of the corner of my eye as I dig into the pocket for my iPhone.

Dr. Bloomberg.

Calling from Boston Medical Center.

Lucy's doctor.

The sensation of warmth washes over me as my brain finally processes possible reasons why he could be calling.

Lucy woke up.

Lucy took a turn for the worse.

Fifty fifty chance.

I hit the screen to answer. Kid looks fretful.

"Hello?"

"Is this Emily Valentine?"

My grip on my phone tightens. "Yes."

"Miss Valentine, this is Doctor Bloomberg calling from Boston Medical Center," Oh shit, why does he sound like he would rather not be making this call? "I'm calling about Lucy Wallace."

Kid's saying something that I can't interpret.

My stomach is lurching.

"Miss Valentine, we don't know how to tell you this, but Lucy is missing."

Kid is holding me up by the arm.

"What do you mean she's _missing_?"

On the other line, there's the sound of police car sirens speeding past.

"Her nurse went to check on her this morning at about seven o'clock. Lucy wasn't in bed."

There isn't dread forming at the pit of my stomach anymore. No. There's rage running through my veins. Pure, unfiltered rage. "Are saying a fifteen year old girl in a fucking coma just up and vanished without anyone noticing?"

Rage. Anger. Fury.

This is the other side moving their pawn.

I'm at the door without even realizing I told my legs to run.

"Emily! Emily, wait!"

"Miss Valentine, we're doing everything we can at the moment. The police and hospital security are searching the premises as we speak. We're sending out an Amber Alert-"

"Emily, hold on a minute!"

I'm whipping the door open. I've made a dent in the plaster.

I am a heart that has missed a beat altogether.

I am the blood draining from your face.

I am your tongue, cotton dry because you've been standing with your mouth open for the past twenty or so seconds.

My grip on my cell phone loosens.

"Doctor Bloomberg, I'm going to have to call you back." _Click_.

Pale blonde bobbed hair. A white hospital gown. Big, baby blue eyes.

Scruffy brown headbanger's hair. A dopey looking expression. A nose ring Spanish bulls find in fashion.

Kid's just dropped Kenji's bundle of clothes to the floor.

"Hey best friend!"

"Are you stealing Ken's clothes or something? Can you grab his black Obey hoodie for me? I always wanted that one."

I'm sorry Kenji. You're going to have to wear the same clothes for a little while longer.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

This took a long ass time to write.

Shocking revelations. Shocking revelations _everywhere_.

Budding romance. Budding romance _everywhere_.

A very obvious cliffhanger.

This story is now in motion. And it looks like we're going to be heading for twenty chapters.

Bless everyone for reviewing the last chapter! The critics are raving!

Anyways, my midterms are over and I can finally rest a little easier now.

I'd like to note this chapter may or may not be jumping the shark. I'll just suck it up and call it character development. Poor Emily, I feel for you girl.

Playlist:

**Dear God, I Hate Myself by Xiu Xiu**

**Hate by Cat Power**

**Baby Doll by Cat Power  
><strong>

**Idioteque by Radiohead**

**I Luv the Valley OH! By Xiu Xiu**

Also, if you haven't checked it out, go to my profile for some bonus content, including character sketches of Emily, Kenji, Lucy, Cain, and Thurston. I've also supplied a link to my Polyvore account where I've created a collection of outfits for each character (Except Thurston) so you can picture what kind of swagger everyone has going on. Spoiler alert: They all dress like a bunch of Boston hipsters.

I'd also like to advise you about some really great fanfiction I've been reading in this fandom. **I Said Seduce the Camera, Not Me **by ThatGirlWithThePen and **Project AT12 **by kokorocrane. Good Kid/OC fics, none of the weeaboo drivel and bad grammar. No, I'm serious. They're really good! Give them reviews!

Anyways, thank you guys so much for loving this story! I'll update as soon as possible.

- Nicole


	10. Suffer Less

"_Please could you stay awhile to share my grief  
>For its such a lovely day<br>To have to always feel this way  
>And the time that I will suffer less<br>Is when I never have to wake_"

**- Portishead, 'Wandering Stars'**

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

Everyone looks like they're questioning the reality of this situation. Hell, I'm still trying to convince myself I'm actually conscious.

Kenji, who Liz is supporting by the arm, and still looking a bit green, may or may not have shit his pants upon entering the Death Room five minutes ago. He's also not too happy about lacking a change of clothes.

Kid is trying his best to look composed and not at all like his brain liquidized in his skull.

Then you have Black Star, who is demanding an explanation as to why he was interrupted from his Rocky training routine to stand around in the Death Room and wait for something to happen. Bless Tsubaki for putting up with a fourteen year old kid who looks like Rambo with the attention span of a gnat.

Liz has a semblance of what is going on by the way she keeps sneaking glances at Kenji from the corners of her eyes, or maybe she's just afraid he's going to get sick all over her chest. Patti, on the other hand, appears just as clueless as Black Star does.

And then there's Soul and Maka. Soul, with his ever present laid back attitude is coolly trying to assess whatever it is Lord Death called everyone into the Death Room for. Maka, meanwhile, has been sending me worried glances every second or so. She's a sharp girl after all, and it has been noted that she has one of the strongest abilities of Soul Perception DWMA has ever encountered. On a side note, she looks somewhat uncomfortable about having to be in the same room as Spirit, her father, who appears to have spent the night sleeping at a strip club.

And yes, Stein totally rolled into the room on his chair and crashed into the platform stairs.

Lord Death is sitting in his oversized royal chair, trying to collect his thoughts into words to describe this down right strange turn of events.

And for a girl who was just in a coma yesterday, Lucy seems to be fairing well. For once, Thurston isn't trying to make use of his knowledge for awful jokes to ease the tense feeling in the room, hallelujah.

Lord Death finally stands up, or whatever, does he even have legs? But let me say, I have never seen him look so serious. There's no jolly laughter or bouncing about with glee. If Thurston were feeling up to it, he would probably crack a joke about the situation being _grim_. Grim reaper. Grim. Get the joke? Leaves an awful taste in your mouth, doesn't it?

"Now before I explain why I have called you all here, there is something that needs to be brought to attention. From this point forward, what I speak of is not to leave this room, students and faculty both," He bounces, glides, shuffles, whatever, he just moves to the opposite side of the platform. "For the past couple of months, Emily Valentine and I have been in on a particular situation that calls for secrecy and could very well endanger what all of you achieved with the defeat of Asura."

I can literally hear everyone's eyes flying wide open.

"About two weeks before the revival of Asura, a group of renegades infiltrated SIN Technical School through manipulation and deceit. The goal of this group is to create a new god of madness, having rightly believed that Asura would fail at our hands. During this time, they recruited both Emily Valentine and her friend Lucy Wallace-" He nods towards Lucy, who for once doesn't look like she has her head in Neverland. "Under false pretenses towards a goal of ending the illegal trade of black market human soul trade. These two, having figured out the renegades' ultimate plan, tried to put a stop to it. And while the press covered the incident up an accident, it was anything but. Those perceived to be dead are anything but."

"Lord Death, are you saying that the fire at SIN was-" Maka's voice is dripping with shock.

The reaper nods. "Yes Maka, the fire was a result of a confrontation to put a stop to what was going on. Briefly before the fire, Emily Valentine contacted me regarding her doubts about the false operation she was recruited into, and we came to the conclusion that we had something serious on our hands."

"Why would something like that be covered up? You know we can handle it!" Soul's hands ball into fists at his side, his brow furrowing with irritation.

I haven't had a cigarette in fucking twenty four hours.

"Due to the fragility of the situation, I couldn't risk more people getting involved. Lucy here has been in a coma for the past two months due to injuries she suffered on the night of her and Emily's attempt to destroy the group's plans. However, that is not exactly why this has been a classified case."

Kenji knows everything. Everything but what he refused to believe. I really hope he doesn't barf all over this nice marble white floor or in Liz's hair.

"The group, led by a man named Noah with his two disciples Cain Iscariot and Gopher, has manufactured a new strain of black blood for whatever creature they have created using the Book of Eibon and Medusa Gorgon's research," I look down at the toes of my shoes. I can feel Lord Death and Kid staring at me with such regret that my deepest secret has to come into light. "During the night of the SIN fire, Lucy was infected with the creature's black blood. Emily, however, was forced to form a blood bond with it; She was injected with the blood and in return, their future god of madness received hers."

I've never heard a room so quiet in my entire life. This is what it feels like to have the darkest part of you thrust out into the spotlight. I'm addicted to snorting my grandparent's ashes. I'm a cannibal. I was born with a parasitic twin growing on my back.

"Emily…I…I didn't believe you," I look up and see Kenji straining from Liz's grasp, and my God he looks like he wants to break down into tears. "Em, I'm sorry."

Everyone look at me. Have sympathy for me and my tainted, parasitic blood. Look at my life.

"It's alright Kenji." My voice doesn't sound like it belongs to me, it sounds recorded and too well rehearsed. I told you so.

"Is that why Chrona isn't back yet?" Maka says.

Oh. That's right, Medusa Gorgon's daughter. Seriously, that witch makes mothers who strap their kids into drowning SUVs look like Parents of the Year. Yeah, she replaced all of her daughter's blood with black blood. Poor thing. At least she's human.

"I was afraid if the presence of two strains of black blood in the same area that a catalytic reaction would ensure. However, after personal observation, I can assure you that this strain is not only dependent on a host soul, but acts independently, able to replicate the form of human blood as to avoid detection. This form of black blood is aggravated by the host's mental health, and in Emily's case, also on the blood bond connecting her to the manufactured kishin god. I will brief Marie on the situation. She and Chrona are expected to be back here within the week."

Black Star huffs. "And this isn't a big secret anymore because…?" Tsubaki swiftly smacks him upside the head.

Lord Death's eyes narrow from under his mask. "It has come to my attention that Noah and his militia are proceeding with this attempt at a much faster rate than we anticipated," He nods at Lucy, whose eyes are focused on the contours of his mask. "Miss Wallace, would you like to describe the details of the event?"

Event: Fifteen year old girl in a month and a half long coma escapes unnoticed from a hospital of reputable security on the eastern coast and winds up in Nevada come the next day. All that and she still hadn't bothered to change out of a hospital gown.

My charcoal grey slip dress really doesn't suit her at the moment.

Lucy steps forward, rocking back and forth on her feet after giving a quick, analytical look over of her audience. Though the usual dazed expression is back on her face, I can tell you right now she means all seriousness.

"Hello everyone! I'm Lucy Wallace, and this is my partner, Thurston Palmer!" Thurston, and oh God he just shines under generally awkward moments, waves. "Well, I guess I should tell you all why I'm here on such short notice, especially to you Emily.

"So, I was dreaming that I was in a lush, blooming garden, sipping tea and finishing off a plate of strawberry scones. As I was about to clean the last crumb away, a little fluffy black rabbit came hopping up to me. I asked, 'Why, Mr. Rabbit, why do you look so troubled?' to which he said, 'Lucy, you have to wake up now!' Now, of course, people in a comatose state of consciousness must awaken on their own, and as far as I knew, the garden and scones were quite real. But that funny little rabbit kept telling me to wake up now or sleep forever!

"Then, Mr. Rabbit was gone and I found myself in a dimly lit white room with the ugliest looking nurse I have ever seen standing over me! Of course, it wasn't the fact that the nurse had an Adam's apple that concerned me, but rather the fact that she was holding a syringe of what I concluded to be some type of poison. Obviously, the nurse didn't expect me to wake up, which threw her-or rather him-off. I deducted from the last few things I could remember consciously that I was shot in the arm at SIN, and by the length of my hair I determined I had been asleep for over a month. Well, somehow or another I was able to transform my forearm into its weapon form when the nurse tried to wrestle the syringe in my neck, and I bashed him over the head!

"As for how I managed to escape from a hospital unnoticed, all of the cameras are angled to capture visuals at a certain height, and since it took until I reached an exit to regain the full use of my legs, I kinda just dragged my way through the halls! So I left and made my way to Thurston's house, where we decided that those men Emily and I had gotten involved with a month ago weren't very happy with us. So we packed up and booked two emergency flights here at eleven at night! Pretty outlandish, isn't it?"

Everyone looks like they've just listened to a crazy person ramble on about how he killed Hitler in Vietnam with a clown.

To quote Black Star's remark, "Is this chick _special_ or something?"

Or Patti; "Cool!"

Awesome. Gopher dressed in fucking drag and tried to replace Lucy's IV fluid with arsenic. Of that entire crew, he was the one who posed as much of a threat as a yippy Chihuahua.

Lord Death looks a bit bewildered for a moment before he speaks up once again. "In light of this ordeal, as well as information that leads me to assume that BREW is in danger and their possession of The Book of Eibon, I am calling for an expansion of this covert operation to include you selected students and Death Scythes," His voice deepens with a new tone of seriousness as he releases a deep inhale. "We also have reason to believe that Justin Law has betrayed us to join in Noah's efforts."

Well, _that _is fucking news to me.

"Father, you can't be serious!"

"Justin Law, a traitor?"

"No way! Lord Death, there's no way a Death Scythe would ever double cross you! No way!"

The blood had told me of a recruitment of two new members in Saint Sebastian's. How did that escape me?

Lord Death clasps his hands behind his back. "I am afraid it is so Maka," He looks like he's been trying hard to convince himself it isn't true too. "But all evidence points to his defection to the side of madness. And I repeat, this information is not to spread beyond you due to the severity and delicacy of this situation. We are dealing not only with manipulated witch craft, the Book of Eibon, and the forsaking of a Death Scythe, but a highly dangerous group of radicals who pose a serious threat to the balance of our world."

He turns to look back at Kenji, who looks about ready to keel over, his arm wrapped tight around Liz's waist now for added support. "Kenji, as for your sudden bout of illness, your resonance with your infected partner _did _expose you to black blood. However, at the time we know too little about it to know if you are infected, but if I am assuming correctly, like regular black blood, you should be able to combat the sickening side effects within twenty four hours after being exposed due to being on equilibrium with Emily and your soul wavelengths being naturally resistant to madness. Because of this, I advise further caution when resonating with Emily, as you will only be able to keep her wavelengths under control so long as she has thirty percent control of her soul from the black blood."

The word of the day is _devastation_, as in 'All of this joy killing talk is devastation not only to Kenji, but probably to his pants because he might have shit himself.'

"As a result of all of this, I have called upon all of you because your past experience proves you to be trustworthy in handling so grave a situation. From here on out, you shall all be counted as members of a special team for this covert mission. You are here by members of Spartoi. You may all return to your classes, except for Thurston and Lucy, who shall go with Professor Stein and Spirit to clear them of health and fill out papers to enroll in DWMA. I expect everyone to meet back here tomorrow directly after class. Have a good day."

Yes, it's going to be another one of _those_ days today.

* * *

><p>In all the chaos that this morning brought about (Waking up in Kid's bed, having to go back to the apartment for a change of clothes for Kenji and myself, and the sudden arrival of my comatose best friend and her partner) I totally dropped the ball and forgot to grab money to buy a bento box for lunch.<p>

This would bother me more if it weren't for the fact that I remembered hiding a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in the crevice of the stone wall on the edge of the campus on Monday.

I really hate the taste of these things to be honest. If it weren't for the firm grasp of nicotine on my nerves and the desire to slowly die of smoke inhalation I'd throw this whole carton into a sewage drain.

I give the lighter a few bored flicks as I blow smoke from my lips. The flame's heat burns hot along the pad of my thumb, but I've built up enough calluses from my work wielding Kenji around that it's only slightly irritating warmth licking at the rough skin.

"Did you know that the same chemicals they put into rocket fuel are in those?"

For once, it's not Kid scolding me about smoking cigarettes on school property.

I glance to the left at Lucy, still wearing the grey slip dress I loaned her earlier, which really washes out the tone of her skin, as she situates herself next to me on the rock wall.

"I haven't seen you in nearly two months and you've picked up smoking? Besides your caffeine addiction, I thought you were above bad habits." She folds her hands in her lap curtly.

I glance down at the burning cigarette held in my fingers. "It could be worse. Usually, people with post traumatic stress disorder turn to crack or snorting Comet, so you should consider me lucky I guess."

Lucy nods, and I've probably jogged her interest in looking up how much of a house hold cleaning product you'd have to stuff your nose with before your brain starts to drip out of your ears.

"Mister Stein told me you were in the hospital for awhile before you came here. Was it like _Girl, Interrupted_?"

I take a quick drag on the butt of my cigarette. Lucy may be a certified genius, but in many aspects, she is immune to the idea of reality, as seen by this genuine question of whether mental hospitals are anything like Winona Ryder movies.

"Eh, it was really just a bunch of drug addicts and girls who were either not allowed to handle plastic eating utensils or refused to eat at all." I wasn't allowed to use anything but a spoon for a week until they realized I wasn't suicidal.

A moment of silence hangs on a string between us. We're talking as if nothing has changed. In a way, nothing has. Lucy is alive and appears to be capable of higher intelligence. It feels like we're talking over a burger and milkshake down by the harbor. After we pay our food we're going to go hangout in the cemetery and check out the tombstones of unnamed babies from the seventeenth century. It's just Emily Valentine and Lucy Wallace being strange and unusual as always.

But things have changed unfortunately. Lucy's got a shoulder all stitched up and wrapped in bandages and I'm sucking on the filter of a cigarette as if it's going to pay me a hundred bucks when it's all burnt out.

I turn over to look at my best friend. "Lucy, I am so sorry I got you involved in all of this," An apology a month late. "Shit, you almost died and it's because of me."

It took over an hour to wash the stain of her blood from my skin. I had to throw out the clothes I wore that day because the blood had set for too long in the fabric for any hope.

I feel Lucy shift closer to my side. "It was my choice and mine alone to involve myself."

I stick the butt of the cigarette between my lips. "I knew it wasn't right to get you mixed up in that crap but I fucking did it anyways."

Right now all I can think of is how much Thurston hated me when I first went to visit Lucy in the hospital. I had picked out a bouquet of her favorite flowers and after an hour of self convincing, I worked up enough nerve to go to the hospital. Thurston was sitting on the bed, petting the side of her head, and upon my entrance into the room, he gave me a look filled with such repulsion that I trembled.

"_You did this."_

That was the night of the infamous bathroom incident that got me committed.

On the day Kenji and I left Boston for Death City, I visited Lucy one last time. Thurston was there helping the nurse change her bandages.

"_I'm sorry."_

"_So you're really leaving for Death City, huh?"_

"_I have to. There's nothing left for me here."_

"_What about us?"_

"_I'll only be trouble for you two if I stay."_

"_I'm sorry for bein' a jerk before. I don't want you and Ken to go, ya' know?"_

"…"

"_Take care of yourselves."_

Lucy sighs. "You're my best friend in the entire world, and I have to warn you. If you allow yourself to be consumed by guilt you are only feeding the darkness inside of you," She turns to face the horizon view of Death City, her eyes baby blue and wide with 'Holy goodness, how macabre!' "It might be because I don't have the blood bond you have, but what my blood makes me hear and see is independent; It has no motives but to manifest in its own self interest."

She begins to swing her legs back and forth, the wooden heels of her Oxfords clicking in beat against the stone wall. "The blood is a reflection of our darkest parts and self conflict, all the negativity and the capacity for human evil. You can either come to terms with it or allow for it to control you," I look away as I feel her hand clasp my shoulder. "For your own good Emily, understand that sometimes terrible things are out of our control, and the only way to make things right is to move on."

I flick the cigarette of its build up of ashes. "You've got it all figured out and you haven't been awake for over twenty four hours." Sorry we can't all solve Calculus equations at age eleven. Yes, there is a part of me deep down that really envies Lucy. She's always been carefree and brilliant, able to build her own persona from the get go while I'll always be measured by Lady Lilith's shadow.

She perfected The Swan.

Not me.

I inhale a drag and let the smoke sit in my lungs before exhaling. "I don't know how long I can stay in control. Up until I resonated with Kenji I was able to keep it confined inside my head. Lucy, I'm speaking in tongues now for crying out loud!"

Kid asked me over his cup of Earl Grey tea this morning that if I consciously had the remarkable skill to speak backwards.

Lucy tucks a lock of blonde hair behind her tiny ear. "There's an answer to everything; Love yourself and give your soul meaning to thrive within your heart."

Lucy should really be the person who people go to for quotations to put on inspirational posters.

"So what, you've got your parasite on a leash or something? Don't you have issues with people thinking you're strange and all that bull crap?" Again, Lucy had always been the black sheep of SIN Tech. Not too many kids can recite _The Raven_ by heart and consider _Paradise Lost _to be 'light reading'. Then there was the phase in which she wanted to be a taxidermist or embalm corpses for a living. She considered the people who dress up dead bodies and do their make up for wakes as hot shit. The first time we met in ballet class, other girls were picking on her for reading a book about Judeo-Christian Mythology instead of _Highlights_. While she wasn't necessarily bothered by it, we became fast friends after I ripped a fistful of hair from some spoiled brat's head.

This is another example of how I secretly envy her. She laughs lightly. "Well. I am comfortable with myself. While I made my way to Thruston's house, I began to feel all the negativity trying to grasp my soul. However, he ended up rejuvenating purpose in my heart."

It's really no secret that Lucy has always had feelings for her partner. Ever since the day they were matched up it was clear she held him in strong admiration. Thurston, of course not being the sharpest tool in the shed, was pretty oblivious to it.

"He never left your side for an entire week you know. The hospital threatened to slap a restraining order on him if he kept sneaking in to see you during non-visiting hours. I never saw him look so broken up over anything in my life. And yes, it was even worse than the Animal Crackers incident."

"_You did this."_

Probably at the memory of the Great Animal Cracker Incident of 2007, Lucy giggles.

You really don't want to know. It's too stupid to comprehend.

She smiles and finally takes her hand off of my shoulder. "We're planning on taking our partnership to the next level," There's the faintest of blushes spreading onto her cheeks. "I must say, his lips are quite soft."

I thought Thurston was holding her hand because she was suffering from post coma vertigo or something!

Thurston _was _smiling stupider than usual. Big goofy goon grin he only wears when he sees a hot girl in a bikini or vinyl metal record sales.

A slight scowl tugs at my lips. "You're lucky to have that with him, or anyone else for that matter. Must be nice."

Maybe it's not that I don't in pure hearted love.

What I really loathe is just how corruptible such a state human emotion is. Love sells Hallmark cards and chocolate. Love creates creepy stalkers. Love makes you act like a complete idiot.

I don't love myself.

I don't love Cain.

But he's still standing in the wing of the theater of my life to drag me back to him.

This is why I can't have nice things.

"You have it too."

I nearly give myself a cigarette burn in the cheek at this. Fucking hell Lucy.

"Lord Death's son? I saw the way he was looking at you. And I've known you quite long enough to know you let your brain get in the way of what you want."

My cheeks feel hot. I can't stand to look her in the eyes anymore.

I look down at my hands. They're shaking cigarette ash all over my knees.

"_Regardless of what happened or what your blood is tainted with, you're still Emily Valentine, and I want to be by your side because I am infatuated with you._"

My hand was so warm in his last night.

And it was the first time in so long that I've slept peacefully throughout the entire night.

Kid wants to be by my side no matter what. He's fearless and stubborn and he's foolish for wanting any romantic relationship with me.

My heart has led me astray before once, why should I follow it again?

"It's Cain that's holding you back, isn't it?"

I sneak a glance at Lucy out of the corner of my eye.

"_What do you like about me?"_

"_Why won't you make love to me?"_

"_You love me, right?"_

"_What am I to you?"_

Cain never loved me.

No, he just _desired_ me.

I was the missing piece to complete a new era. I was nothing but a comfort girl to him.

It was all one sided to begin with.

Hands in intimate places. Heavy kissing in the back seat.

There was never affection. Just lust.

And yet he never tried to join us together.

But I still feel like he _owns _me.

I'm not a pet. I'm not a doll.

Lucy takes my silence as a correct assumption of 'Yeah, that bastard fucked me up in the long run.'

"As far as I can tell, you don't have a string of fate attaching you to him. Love is who we entrust our hearts to. Whether they break it or nourish it has nothing to do with how _you_ take care of it."

Something inside suddenly clicks.

I stub out the butt of my cigarette, even though it's already burned to the filter.

The bell is ringing.

All the students who have been eating inside are loudly making their way back into the building.

I feel Lucy wrap her arms around me in a hug. "You're so stubborn Emily."

I can't come to terms with feeling anything but self loathing for myself, but there is still someone who can give me back a shred of humanity.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

I don't blame Emily for smoking up on this balcony. It truly is quite a breath taking and relaxing view of Death City.

However, my current attention is focused on my hand. And for once, surprisingly, I'm not lamenting on the lack of symmetry of the extremity.

No, I'm thinking of how perfectly Emily's hand fit into mine. Our fingers laced and our palms cozy against each other, we fit together like two puzzle pieces.

Perfectly balanced.

Her hands are soft, but the calluses on her fingers and the inside of her palms are badges of honor to her hard work as an axe meister.

But that's probably about as close we're ever going to get.

My dreams are merely dreams. There is no basis for them in reality. I'm well qualified to write a sonnet about her, the unattainable woman.

But like her hand in mine this morning, it's going to be hard to let go.

Suddenly, I hear the sound of heels clicking close by behind me.

"Don't tell me you're upsetting yourself over having five fingers on each hand and not eight."

I turn around.

She's here. And she's smiling.

Somehow, I manage to shake my head that no, I am most certainly not being overcome by my compulsive tendencies.

Emily's red lips are still pulled up into a smile as she walks over to my side, leaning back against the railing I've rested my elbows on to take in the overlook of Death City, watching silently as students filter out of the building to head home.

She's so beautiful when she smiles that it hearts my heart.

"I guess that no matter what I do you're involved in this godforsaken mess now, huh?"

Our eyes meet.

"I suppose I am, yes," I stick my hands in the pockets of my trousers. "You don't have to worry, Maka, Black Star, and myself are really quite the unbeatable team."

Emily pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, her expression going lachrymose once again. "That's not exactly why I am worried about you getting involved."

She brushes a few locks of hair over her shoulder. "Can Grim Reapers…well…can they… can you die?"

I feel something of a chill run down my spine as she looks quickly away, her shoulders slouching from the built up question.

I near myself closer to her, and I'm happy she doesn't flinch away or stiffen when I place my hand on her elbow. "Everything is fated to die. Human, witches, reapers, whatever the hell Blair is," I find my thumb rubbing soothing circles into the crease of Emily's elbow, from which I stop the instant I realize I'm doing it. "N-nothing in the world is immortal, my father included."

There's a distinctive difference between 'immortal' and 'impervious to age'. My father did quite nearly die the night Asura attacked.

I remember one of my favorite poems. _Holy Sonnet 10_.

"One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die."

Emily stiffens under my hand. She turns her head back towards me, her lips parted and her copper eyes wide. "John Donne…you like poetry?"

I never was a boy who liked to rough house or engage in various tomfoolery. "Well, I do enjoy reading in general. At Gallows Manor I have a vast library with quite an abundant collection of Romantic prose. I pride myself for keeping cultured."

She nods, her eyes twinkling with interest. "Lucy and I used to go over each other's houses and act out Poe's poems and ready other Romantic works," She's smiling again at the memory, her eyes looking away again to glance at the past. "It reminds me that I still have her copy of _Ariel _to give back to her."

She always did strike me as a Sylvia Plath kind of girl.

"Of course, you probably know I'm not here to talk to you about poetry…"

I can't help going rigid.

We never did finish the conversation in her kitchen this morning. I've been waiting for an answer all day.

I glance down briefly at my hand; The hand that will only be touching her hand and nothing else.

"Well, I was going to say no."

My stomach tightens.

Yet, she is still talking.

"But then Miss Empathy woke up from her coma and gave me a talking to during lunch," She leans her cheek against the heel of her hand. "Girl talk works wonder, it's really quite amazing."

I reply with an expression of befuddlement. "What are you saying?"

And she's smiling again.

"That I've been a real drag lately. And I wouldn't mind being your date."

My cheeks flush hot. "Wh-what made you change your mind?"

Emily's eyes close half lidded. "Well, I did a lot of thinking in class. And I came to the conclusion that I find your obsession with symmetry to be really fucking annoying and your dedicated interest in my personal life bordering on bratty. However, I also realized you're noble, clever, charitable, kind, and your bad boy façade is thankfully skin deep."

My hand empty hand is suddenly filled with the warmth I've been missing since this morning.

Before I have time to process everything, Emily has pulled me close to her face.

I can count her eyelashes.

I can feeling her breath dew on my face.

I can smell the soft, flowery perfume of her hair.

I can feel her symmetrical breasts pushed up against my chest.

And now I feel her lips pressing against mine, timid at first and then hard pressed and needy.

She tastes so sweet and soft as she opens her mouth against mine and we're finally _balanced_.

It's times like this when I wonder what I did to deserve such goodness.

* * *

><p><strong>Somewhere Outside of Las Vegas<strong>

The Death Scythe smiled.

He had always considered himself a faithful proselyte of his beliefs. Working as a priest was one of the few things that gave him pleasure. However, he has always doubted whether or not he was following the will of a true god.

It was when he fought the autonomous chainsaw that he realized that he had been following the wrong path.

The true creed was madness.

The man in the hat flipped the pages of the book, briefly eying the fish tank on the other side of the room every so often.

She was going to be beautiful.

With every innocent soul of a runaway or drifter, somebody that no one would realize was missing, their Goddess became stronger.

Her hands had formed. Her face had developed. Her legs were still shriveled up like a fetus, but within a few weeks, she would no longer have to be carried around in a tank anymore.

The Goddess couldn't talk yet, but they all knew what she was saying. She spoke to them in their heads.

In another room of the abandoned love motel they had been occupying since deserting that crap military hospital, a boy was closely analyzing a set of manuscripts written in the language of witches.

He pricked his fingers with glee, smudging the bloodied tips into a Petri dish to put under a microscope.

As he compared the dish with the fresh sample of the Goddess' blood, he grinned.

Power, destruction, death, rebirth, genesis.

The idiotic small one may have screwed up kidnapping the Wallace girl, but that only meant things would be easier.

It was fairly obvious she had gone to Death City to return to Valentine.

Two gems in one location. Easy.

The Goddess told them of Valentine's progress. The blood bond was their tie to the girl. They were like the mafia. Once you're a part of them, the only way you will ever leave is in a body bag.

The boy's lust grew strong as he thought of how she had struggled against him when he pushed the syringe into her vein.

He collected memories as trophies.

She was a foolish girl from the start. The red head was far too concerned with doing good that she took any opportunity to prove herself.

That's the secret to attaining power; Find the weakness and put a choke hold on it.

At the memory of how easy it was to squeeze the air out of her neck, he felt his manhood twitch.

He missed his plaything.

No, not love. The lust for power over someone was what excited him to no end.

The Goddess had spoke of her involvement with the Reaper boy.

What a needy slut.

He would never make her feel anything like he did.

It was only a matter of time before their Goddess would be ready.

All according to the book.

Then it would be time to strike for BREW and take back what was rightfully theirs.

The girl who was rightfully his.

They would be unstoppable.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

Sorry for the wait guys! Senioritis is killing me.

I figured it was time to stop beating around the bush and take the plunge. Or jump the shark again.

Playlist:

**Only Girl (In the World) by Xiu Xiu**

**Wandering Star by Portishead**

**Summertime Sadness by Lana Del Rey**

**The Sound of Forgetting by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross (From The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo)**

**Post Blue by Placebo**

For any of you who are Persona 4 fans, I plan on posting a Kanji/Naoto series of drabbles in the coming weeks! Be on the lookout for that!

Read and review loves!

Nicole


	11. Sucker Love

"_Sucker love is heaven sent you _  
><em>Pucker up our passion's spent <em>  
><em>My heart's a tart your body's rent <em>  
><em>My body's broken yours is bent <em>  
><em>Carve your name into my arm <em>  
><em>Instead of stressed I lie here charmed <em>  
><em>Cause there's nothing else to do <em>  
><em>Every me and every you<em>"

**- Placebo, 'Every You and Every Me'**

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

At times I find the things I try to repress from my memory filtering through my head.

The soulful, deceitful look in his eyes.

The way his fingertips brushed along my bare midriff.

Those callused hands tugging at the roots of my hair.

And every time I find those thoughts bleeding into my conscious thought, I have to bite my lip, hoping the sudden sensation of pain will overtake the undesirable thoughts of Cain and how he used my estrogen like a sword to my neck.

Right now, I'm having one of those moments.

All this talk about them in this Spartoi meeting has triggered my mind to work against me, yet again.

I hate this fucking memory.

It was the first time I got the feeling that something about our whole operation wasn't right.

The long emerald green wig stopped mid-back; Just long enough to be considered sexy and not 'crazy religious Christian cult where the mom is pregnant all the time'.

I was about to infiltrate one of the most notorious night clubs in Boston where the mafias in charge of the soul trading business frequented.

My name was Natali Botocelli, Italian heiress to an oil fortune overseas in the homeland attending college. A vain girl who wanted a piece of the excitement the black market offered.

As I brushed silver eye shadow across my lids, I heard an animalistic growl coming from the other room.

Cain's makeshift research laboratory.

When I heard it again, I turned to the door, opening it whilst ignoring the sensation that what was on the other side was something I didn't want to see.

Cain was sitting at his desk, a syringe sticking out of the crook of his arm, which was tied to make the vein pop out.

He was in the middle of snorting lines of fine white powder through a dollar bill.

Keep in mind that I was blinded by first love. Stupid bitch. I convinced myself I didn't see anything, it was an illusion. I wasn't getting enough sleep. I was seeing stupid shit that could never happen.

But in the back of my head, I knew I had been wide awake.

Cain had been shooting himself up with his manufactured black blood. Snorting cocaine to deal with the burning effects the injection dealt.

This is the memory that comes rushing through my head when a girl with choppy pink hair is escorted into the Death Room, looking like a rabbit taken out of its cage. If it weren't for the curvature of hips and torso, her gender would be an absolute mystery. Even with that distinction, she could still easily pass as a boy wearing a long black dress.

Kenji and Maka are holding my hands. Lucy is holding hands with Kid, precautions against the sudden introduction of a human body with nothing but black blood running through the veins.

I feel the familiar heat of irritation rise in my chest and my head pangs slightly with a throb. Invisible wavelengths tug the sensations back down.

My doppelganger is going to play nice today. She's going out of her way to get me to give into her. That means bending over slightly, making a good impression. But I still feel her pressure pushing down between my shoulder blades. My eye twitches.

The blonde woman with the eye patch at the androgynous girl's side, who I know as Marie the Death Scythe, pulls the pink haired girl before her with a warm smile. "Hi everyone! This is Chrona Gorgon. Chrona, say hi!"

Chrona's face turns even meeker, like she's seconds away from bursting into tears. "H-hi."

Maka leans into my ear. "She's really shy around strangers. She'll warm up to you guys eventually, so don't worry."

Chrona's hands clutch desperately at Marie's dress sleeve as they walk to Maka's unoccupied side.

My wavelengths, though still somewhat unstable, are calm enough for Maka and Kenji to let go of my hands. In exchange, Maka takes one of Chrona's hands in hers, which the pink haired girl accepts with the faintest ghost of a smile.

Lord Death, who has for the most part remained quiet for the past five minutes, stands up and out of his grand chair. "Ho, ho, ho! Good to see you back Chrona! We've gained four new students since you were last with us, and you've gained four new friends as well!" He nods his head in a wink, and while Chrona tries to muster a smile, the shaking in her shoulders clearly indicates her discomfort. If Maka wasn't holding her hand I'm sure the girl would pass out.

Out of the corner of my eye I look at Kid, his gaze catching mine with a blush to his cheeks. Where Cain's lips were rough and somewhat chapped, Kid's are gentle and smooth, like his gentlemanly demeanor, but with the underlying desire to just ravish my mouth like a sex starved Frenchman.

In the less than twenty four hours since the kiss, I don't want to say that things have gotten awkward, but they have become somewhat foreign.

Do I regret pulling him in for a kiss that would make a whore blush? No.

Am I finding myself second guessing my decisions? I wouldn't call it that.

Am I unsure of myself? Survey says…number one answer!

I look into Kid's eyes and question, 'How can I repay him for all the stupid love he's lying at my feet?'

I'm still not worth any ounce of it. I'll let him love me. I don't believe in love. But what I need is close human contact. In that aspect I think I've developed the feelings for him which I've tried desperately to push away since the very beginning. Last night I dreamed of his lips at the swell of my throat and his fingers dancing along my hipbone, nearly dangerously close to, well, you get the picture.

Needless to say, I had to treat myself to a cold shower this morning and cussed at myself in the mirror.

I'm trying to put my heart into it, but I still don't believe in love. Stupid human emotion, remember? I'm a sullen fifteen year old girl, not a hypocrite.

Lord Death breathes another laugh. He certainly seems to be in better spirits than at our first meeting yesterday. It feels pretty forced though. "It is time I briefed you on the information we have already gathered regarding this mission. Emily, would you accompany me please?"

I shrug and move to walk up onto the platform at his gigantic side.

At that moment his mirror begins to reflect something on the level of television static, which after a few seconds disappears and shows the map of the south western United States the both of us have been marking up and torturing ourselves with. There are little red x's and little green circles littered around the borders of each state.

The green circles are places where they've been hiding.

The little red x's are the places where we came to a dead end.

"For the past few weeks, the main focus of our operation has been in locating where Noah and his group are hiding. Within the last month, there has been an increase in disruptive soul activity. In many of the towns on this map, local homeless have gone missing and reports of unexplained break-ins have been made."

Professor Stein stands on Lord Death's other side. He's probably somewhat bummed that our therapy sessions have become a little up in the air as of lately. I'm not crazy. I'm still mentally disturbed, however.

I pick up where Lord Death trails up. "The problem is that Noah and his group are a clever bunch of bastards. They wouldn't hunt and hide in the same town, that's too obvious of a pattern. Whenever we have tracked down their location, they're already steps ahead of us in another unknown town. But they're staying in the south west area. They're stalking us."

Lucy raises her hand, even though it's not necessary. She just always does that when she has the need to speak in public gatherings. "Have you been looking into their backgrounds for clues? This seems like a good case to use criminal profiling!"

Maka's green eyes sparkle. "Yeah. Not to mention they seem to have a peculiar familiarity of how to evade DWMA's detection, even before they recruited Justin. Do you think they have ties to us?"

I bite my lower lips. "That's what's what we believe, but it's hard to prove. At this point, profiling is our only option, and we've been basing it off of the reports I've given to Lord Death. But we can't base anything on one source alone. We've been trying to track down records of each of the group's members, except for Justin," I fold my arms across my chest. "The thing is that none of them are registered weapons or meisters. All records we've found have been forgeries. Even their names are most likely fake."

Lord Death takes over. "That is one of the leads we have taken Maka, and we have been going through all of DWMA's records of students, staff, and affiliates to find some kind of link."

None of them appear to have any direct relationship with us though, which seems impossible. After all, Noah and Cain seem to have a clear grasp on the way this school operates if they were able to deceive SIN Tech for as long as they did."

Kid, who has been uncommonly quiet throughout this meeting, speaks up, looking me dead in the eyes. "Are you saying we have no leads to go on?"

Okay, he seems frustrated. "No, we're just limited in the leads we can pursue at the time." Down boy. Heel boy.

"Then what do we have to go on?" Liz says, looking up from picking at her thumb nail.

I puff a sigh out. "While it's fairly obvious, we do have to keep the group's Biblical ties in mind," I walk over to Lord Death's mirror, which turns static once again and flashes with composite sketches of Noah, Cain, and Gopher, along with a picture of Justin and a question mark indicating the still unknown fifth party member. "You've got a self proclaimed 'prophet' leading around a bunch of people who have completely thrown themselves under his power in efforts to create a new world. Sound familiar?"

"Yeah, like Charles Manson, right?"

…

"O-okay, Thurston, Charles Manson too. But more like Jesus Christ." I haven't heard a silence like that in a long time, and I've been in abandoned fucking buildings in the middle of nowhere by myself. For God's sake his fucking face even lit up when he said that, holy crap.

In the mirror, the composite sketch of Noah enlarges. "This is Noah, the so called 'prophet'. We've narrowed down that he is most likely of Middle Eastern descent and that his name is in reference to the Biblical Noah."

"That's the guy with the Ten Commandments, dude!"

Black Star's face twists in disgust at Thurston's comment. "Nuh uh, that was Jesus! I would know since I'm going to surpass him!"

"Sweet. Can you walk on water?"

"Yeah!"

…

Everyone sighs as the level of stupidity in the room reaches maximum levels.

I slap my hand to my forehead. "You idiots are both wrong. Noah had the arc."

"And Black Star, man, skidding across the ocean after being thrown from a jet ski doesn't count as walking on water. Besides, you were on your ass, not your feet."

"_Soooul_! Shut it!"

"Noah took giraffes on the boat too!"

"Can we please continue!" Maka, Liz, Kenji, and Tsubaki shout in unison.

God save us.

"Thank you," I huff, rolling my eyes and recollecting my train of thought before turning back to the attention of the mirror. "_Anyways_, this guy seems to have popped up out of nowhere. We can't find any thing on him. No criminal record, no social security number, no weapon or meister registration, no medical records, nothing to even indicate he even exists. All we known is that he worked between Medusa and Arachne during the spread of madness, so we're cross registering his name with files on witches to see if that brings anything up."

The mirror switches to the composite sketch of Gopher. "This goon is Gopher, Noah's right hand man. He'll do anything Noah tells him to do, even dressing in drag and trying to drug Lucy in the hospital. He's been with Noah the longest so apparently Noah finds something useful in him. We're not sure whether he's a weapon or a meister or an independent weapon, but he does have some kind of ability that makes him of use, clearly." Gopher was what I'd like to call the 'group punching bag'. Someone knocked over a beaker of anti-acids, Gopher has to clean it up. Gopher has to dress up as my gal pal for the group date with the two mafia boss's sons. Gopher, go test out the smoke bombs in that room without windows. However, what he lacked in smooth ability (and height for that matter), he made up with in his quick temper.

Cain's composite sketch enlarges.

We had a couple of actual photos of him lying around.

I don't want to see a real expression he made though.

"Cain Iscariot is, again, the one who manufactured the new version of black blood. That said, he has somehow managed to collect an extensive background in the sciences, mostly chemistry and biology, and has some sort of strong ties or familiarity with witches and witchcraft. He's an independent sniper rifle weapon. Like Noah and Gopher, he has no background, so his name must be a pseudonym. Due to his age, we've come to the conclusion that he's either a runaway or was abducted into the group as a small child. We've searched missing child databases that match his description but we've found nothing."

Please don't let anyone ask why I know so much about him. Please.

Kid catches my eye. He's absorbing my inner sadness and it's showing on his face.

He knows Cain ruined so much for me. It pains anyone to know that someone you care so deeply about was so badly scarred by another person; another person who perverted love and caring to cause pain.

And we're still only children. That's what's so fucking tragic.

The weight between my shoulders presses down harder, and I can feel Maka and Kenji's wavelengths heighten in cautious response. Inhale, exhale, swallow the feeling down like a dry diet pill.

Thurston and Black Star begin to open their mouths to say something.

"And before I hear any moronic guesses in our game of 'Guess the Biblical Allusion', Cain's name is a combination of Cain from the story of Cain and Abel, who committed the first murder, and Judas Iscariot, the apostle who betrayed Jesus to the Romans."

Nope. No cake for you two.

The picture of Justin and the question mark replace Cain's sketch in the mirror. Lord Death sits back down in his chair, resting his face on the back of his gloved hands. "While we still don't know the identity of the fifth member, we are absolutely sure it was through the influence of him that Justin made the move to the other side. Thus, we should look into Justin's recorded activities within the last year for any suspicious interaction, particularly his involvement in the battle against Arachnid. Had it not been for Noah being in Boston at the time of the battle, we could say the two managed to cross paths at some point. For now, we should put our focus onto those who worked for Arachne at the time."

Biblical allusion? The priest. Not hard to guess.

What did that make me?

Mary Magdalene. The Virgin Mary.

A fucking idiot.

"Your assignment for now is to find out where Noah and his group are hiding. There is always a pattern in things. That is the balance of life and death, after all. I have sent each of you a map of confirmed and suspected locations, as well as general profiles for each member…"

"MAN, WE HAVE HOMEWORK?- YEEEEEEEOW!"

And Lord Death just Shinigami Chopped Black Star right on the head. Thurston, who appeared ready to make a supporting comment from the peanut gallery, promptly closes his gaping mouth because the swelling bump on Black Star's head is no joke.

And I thought Kid hit hard.

Please end this meeting.

Lord Death fixes his chopping wrist. "Unless anyone has any questions, you may all go home now!"

Thank you.

And as I race out the door of the Death Room, I think I hear the sound of Kid calling my name.

I know I hear it. And I'm flushed in the face.

I just don't want to face him when he still has that sad look on his face.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

She ran out of my father's room as if it were on fire.

Did we make a mistake? Does she regret it?

Sitting by her side in class, things felt rather peculiar. She wasn't jotting down any notes on soul dissection, but rather staring blankly ahead without the faintest attention upon Stein's lecture.

There was always the hint of a blush on her cheeks.

During lunch she shakily dropped a roll of sushi into her…cleavage.

But every time I neared her to ask if there was anything troubling her, her eyes would widen in surprise and she would whisper, "No."

I have learned that in order to break down walls, one must be consistent in their efforts.

I balance the two Deathbucks coffees in my right arm as I knock on the door. A hazelnut cappuccino and an original blend with a turbo shot. I need to pour over a bunch of documents on a Friday night after all.

Kenji opens the door dressed in a mint cardigan and black pants. I've caught him about to leave apparently.

"Is Emily here?" I motion the coffees in my hands.

Her cousin, a bit taken aback by my surprising visit, nods and moves to let me in.

It's a nice apartment, though it lacks any serious symmetry. It has the same room spread as Maka and Soul's next door apartment, but the tastes in how they have designed are vastly different. The living room has the commonly found cable TV and DVD player, as well as a few gaming systems, most likely Kenji's, and a shelf of movies that I want to check the organization of later. The interconnected living room and kitchen are decorated with various Andy Warhol and Keith Haring paintings, playing into the colorful motif they've used for decorating (A purple couch and zebra print rug). They've picked up many fascinatingly designed light fixtures and even a cat clock, giving the area a retro appearance.

May not be to my balanced tastes, but I do appreciate unified appearance.

"I apologize for showing up on such short notice, or rather, none at all." Kenji leads me down the hallway to the bedrooms.

"Don't worry about it, it's fine. If she seems irritated at first, it'll go away pretty fast when she sees you brought coffee."

I nod. "If I had known you were here I would have picked one up for you as well."

Kenji turns away, fixing his grey beanie. "I'm just about to leave anyways, so it wouldn't have made a difference."

We stop short in front of Emily's door and I give him a more thorough look over than I had when he answered the door. He appears…tidier.

"What's the occasion for such a formal appearance?"

At this, Kenji's face flushes red and he begin to rub at the back of his neck nervously. "W-well, uh, you see, maybe I ought to have given you a heads up…"

"You're going on a date with Liz, aren't you?"

His face turns pale and he coughs out a barely audible affirmation.

"In that case I advise you stop at an ATM for at least two hundred dollars. She is a girl of expensive taste and there's a bracelet at the local jewelry store I've seen her fixated upon."

Kenji swallows nervously and nods. "Thanks…I guess." He stiffly turns to knock on Emily's bedroom door, waiting until he hears a slightly aggravated "What?" come from the other side before opening it.

I look over Kenji's shoulder to see Emily sitting cross legged against an abundance of throw pillows, headphones around her neck with a Macbook in her lap.

"Kid's here with coffee and I'm leaving for," He looks at me nervously from the sides of his glasses. "Well, you know."

There's brief look of surprise in her copper eyes, though I'm not quite sure if it is in response to me showing up uninvited or the coffee. For once maybe it isn't the possession of caffeine sparking a reaction.

Emily pushes her laptop off of her lap. "Uh, okay. See yah then."

A blush still forming on Kenji's face, he vacates the door's threshold, whispering a phrase of "Good luck" into my ear before quickening his pace to the front door.

Emily, who slips her headphones up and off of her neck, shakes her head. "If he takes her to a fucking pizza place I'm going to scratch up all of his Radiohead CDs." She looks up at me, still standing awkwardly half in and half out of her room, and pats at a spot next to her on her bed.

For a moment I feel gangly and clumsy as I make my way across the carpeted floor, trying hard to make sure my feet don't trip over themselves and to keep my gaze fixated upon Emily's hand. As I sit down, I hand her the cup of hazelnut, still feeling its heat in my hand even after she takes it from me. She removes the lid and takes a deep inhale, the steam filtering up into her perky nose. "Good, you know I like hazelnut."

I stare down at my lap, where I've placed my cup between my hands. "Was I interrupting anything?"

I feel her shift positions, uncrossing her legs to hand them over the bedside to match mine. "Not really. It's not like I've been making any progress. I just keep thinking there's something obvious I've missed that I'll somehow catch the next time around," She says, nodding to the stack of papers containing all the gathered information my father gave each of us today. Her eyes briefly glance up at me before snapping away as she recaps the cup of coffee. "So, to what do I owe this visit?"

I run my finger tips across the lacy duvet underneath us. Out with it you sniveling piece of trash. "Do you…do you regret what happened between us the other night? The kiss, I mean."

I feel a sudden wave of tension envelop us in the room. I take a quick swig of coffee for the sake of doing something. Dammit, what is it with coffee houses and brewing their coffee to such scalding temperatures. But somehow I'm managing to bite back the urge to flinch at the burning sensation on my tongue, wincing only slightly as the hot liquid scorches its way down my esophagus.

Ouch.

"No. No, I don't because I meant it."

The heat in my stomach that is not due to swallowing a tablespoon of boiling coffee expands at her words. She's playing with the lid's drinking flap. From the tone in her voice, it's unlikely she's lying.

"It's just that you seem a bit troubled today."

She doesn't look up at me. Her focus is completely overcome by the interest of pushing and pulling the flap's tab in and out of the hole.

I shift closer to her side, so that our arms are pressed flush against each other. I'm relieved that she doesn't pull away. She's still awful quiet.

"Would I be correct in assuming that it's something from the past that has you bothered?"

I think of the expressionless look on her face when she had to talk about that detestable boy. Without even realizing it, I absorbed ever ounce of that pain she was keeping from her countenance. My heart felt as if it were being ripped from the roots in my chest. The dirty, filthy, foul bastard.

Emily nods in response.

"I saw the look on your face when you had to talk about him." I say, cautiously because I still rarely know what I will get out of her in response.

Instead, she heaves a sigh and brushes a curtain of scarlet hair from her profile. "You looked more upset that I had to talk about him than I was." I've never heard her speak so softly before. It's as if there's a weight in her voice, tired and begging for sleep.

I want to know what she's so afraid of. What has her so frightened in the wake of finally opening up to me? I can only guess. "I'm not like that despicable bastard at all. I promise."

How deep does that pain against him go? How lengthy are the scars he marked her with? How much do I have to do to prove she's worth every fiber of affection I give her?

Emily brushes her fingertip around the coffee lid, deepening her slouch. "I know you're not Kid."

A suspicion crosses my mind, a thought too noisome to even contemplate upon for too long that I desire to push it out of my head. A shiver rides down my spine. "Emily, to what extent did he hurt you?"

Her finger tip stops tracing the lid. She stiffens and looks up at me with questioning eyes. "Are you…are you asking if he raped me?"

My heart feels suffocated in my chest. There's an inner rage at the starting line ready to take off at any hint of an affirmation. My only response is to look deep into her eyes.

To my relief, she shakes her head. "No, he never tried to have sex with me. Our relationship never went that far," She releases a long withheld breath. "I think he hated me too much to do that with me."

The alleviation I feel lifts a dangerous burden off of my back. Good, he didn't hurt her like that. If he had, I would have to increase Liz and Patti's bulleted wavelengths to lethal penetration.

I'd carve our names in each bullet to make sure the last thing that would go through that bastard's head is the both of us.

Emily, seeming to have sensed the fury leaving my body, speaks up, her voice a bit stronger now. "I'm damaged but I'm not that tainted."

There's the problem.

I set my coffee on her night table, next to book marked copy of _Jane Eyre_. I place my hands on her shoulders, looking at her so completely dead on that her pupils dilate. "Emily Lilith Valentine you are not damaged and you are not tainted!"

She's haunted by his touch.

I can't be the ghost of his ministrations. I would chop off my own hands before hurting you.

She flinches slightly and peers down at her still untouched cup of coffee, still emitting steam from the lid's spout.

Please believe every word I say to you.

I would cut out my own tongue before lying to you.

"It doesn't bother you that someone used me so fucking carelessly?" She whispers.

My knuckles brush along the undersides of her soft, wavy hair. "It infuriates me that someone you trusted put so much pain in your heart. But whatever he did with you I promise I'll heal, some way or another!"

The tension in her shoulders drops from under my palms. Her body relaxes against mine as I pull her tighter to my side.

I could weep.

After a few moments she moves to pull away. "Uh, Kid, you're crushing my coffee."

I pull back and away sheepishly. "Oh, yes, right."

Emily finally lifts the cup to her mouth for a drink, tilting it forward onto her lips. Her eyes suddenly widen with distress and she puts the Styrofoam cup down next to mine on the bedside table, her hand to her mouth, cursing under her breath.

"What's wrong!" I pull her back to me by the shoulder.

"Fuck, I burnt my mouth," She replies between her fingers, wincing slightly. "Why the hell do they make coffee that hot, I mean seriously?"

Soul once talked about taking advantage of opportunities. He used an example of how he used the tendency for Maka to get marshmallow on her upper lip when she drank hot chocolate to his advantage to kiss her for the first time.

He is what I would like to identify as a _smooth operator_.

I take a hold of Emily's chin and tilt her face towards mine. "I believe I can take care of that for you." I press my lips to her for the second time.

It's even better than the first.

I suckle her sore bottom lip into my mouth, softly caressing it with the tip of my tongue, feeling the heat of blood surging to the spot.

Before I am fully satisfied with my efforts, she pulls away, laughing.

"W-what's so funny!" I feel taken aback. Wasn't she supposed to melt at that? She isn't supposed to fall into a fit of giggles!

"Oh my God, 'I believe I can take care of that for you'? Did Soul teach you to say that? Oh my GOD." She says between sways of laughter. Still laughing, she reaches for a tissue from the box on her bedside table and begins wiping red lipstick off of her lips.

"Well I don't think it's that prone to laughter." I say, my face falling somewhat. Congratulations you worthless trash, you've made an idiot of yourself yet again.

I feel Emily's soft hand pull my chin up, she's still giggling softly. "Hold up Romeo, you've got some lipstick on your face. I can't let you have a stroke if you catch your reflection." She swipes the balled up tissues against my mouth a couple of times, rubbing away any of traces of rouge I feel smeared on my lips.

Once she looks me over for the last time, hopefully satisfied with cleaning my mouth area of red lipstick, she stuffs the used tissue into the pocket of her shorts. "No more shitty pick up lines." She says as she pulls me to hungry lips.

Yes m'am.

Whatever you say.

She's kissing me like she's been holding back for weeks, sucking, licking, nibbling, and intertwining. I can taste the hazelnut in her mouth.

And suddenly we're lying down, face to face on our sides. My hands are tangling in her soft, sweet smelling hair and I let out a grunt of content as I feel her fingers dance to the nape of my neck.

My heart is beating hard against my ribs.

This is the feeling I've woken up to in the middle of the night, pants sticky and desperately trying to recall how the swell of her breasts felt underneath my palms.

She's mewling like a kitten when I move my focus to suck at her neck.

This is nearly three weeks worth of subdued sexual desire pouring out from my lips.

She moans out a delectable mix of my name and a curse as I pull a patch of skin between my teeth.

Instinct has kicked in and it feels fantastical.

Her eyes flutter open and I catch myself lost in her dark, lustful gaze. A gaze I've only dreamed about on a Mediterranean beach with her nearly naked in my arms.

The familiar sensation in my nether regions grows and spreads in response to the heat.

As she pulls my face back up to hers for another searing kiss, my hand lands on the bare strip of midriff her cropped tank top doesn't cover. She's smooth like porcelain as my finger slip to the hollow of her stomach.

Emily begins to gasp and twitch, squeaking uncharacteristically into my mouth as my fingers brush lightly across her skin.

I pull away from the kiss, leaning into whisper in her ear. "Y-your stomach is sensitive?"

She nods into my collarbone. I shift so that my body blankets her, going back in for another kiss and splaying my fingers across her abdomen.

Then I feel her tug my hand up and under her shirt.

The heat down below simmers steadily, my member stirring at the invite to explore more skin.

She nuzzles into my neck as her hands work at clawing my suit jacket off. It's growing too hot for it anyways. To her credit, and my love, she places it neatly at her side rather than tossing it to the other side of the room, which I would have to get up and fix.

With my blazer off, I sit up on her hips, paying mind to put my weight in the knees I've framed her with. Looking down, I watch as the hand she pulled up into her shirt travels cautiously to the under wire of her bra.

It's the replication of a dream. Her blood red hair splayed out like an angel's halo, her lips slick and puffy from bruising, starving kisses, and my hand meeting no resistance as it cups a covered breast.

I can't help myself. I move my other hand from its place supporting my weight in the tangle of her red hair to slip under her shirt to join its twin.

I lean forward and down, pressing my forehead to hers as I weigh each of her breasts in my hands.

I can't help the tug of smile that forms across my lips. "I was correct in my assumption the other day. You do have perfectly symmetrical breasts."

Emily scoffs before placing a peck onto my lips. "Is that like, a necessity to have in a girl or what?"

My hands move to give a light massage across the swollen flesh. Damn the barrier of a padded push up bra. Not that she seems to mind the interference, as she appears content enough in her heavy sighs and honest smiles. I just feel greedy to touch more.

I shrug. "It certainly is a pleasant addition in a mate."

She laughs sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Bullshit. You would freak if one boob was bigger than the other. Don't even try."

My fingers dig into the tops of her breasts. "Okay then, would you like to say I would martyr myself for the lack of even breasts in the world?"

All of a sudden, Emily's half lidded eyes fly open, and she shoots to sit up, quiet nearly knocking me off balance and off the bed. "That's it!"

The absence of warm flesh in my hands and the replacement of colder duvet fabric it quite irritating. Also, I'm rather bamboozled at this sudden outburst. "What's it?"

Emily reaches across her bed to pull the forgotten file of papers and laptop back to her attention. "The connection to where Noah and his rats are traveling to!"

Confusion truly does rid you of a growing nether hardness. "…the universal lack of symmetrical breasts?"

"What-no!" Emily quickly types a couple words on her keyboard. "Martyrs!"

At the look of confusion I've plastered to my face, Emily groans and pulls me over to look at the computer screen, which is open to a compilation of maps.

"They're going to locations with the namesakes of martyrs Kid! Saint Sebastian's, an abandoned love hotel next to a church named Saint Jude, this town in Arizona is named after Saint George, SIN has the largest statue of Joan of Arc in the United States, are you getting any of this? It all fits!"

She's right.

She's absolutely right.

My jacket flies in my face. "Come on, we have to go tell your father!" I pull my blazer off my face in time to see Emily stumble into her desk chair whilst trying to pull on one of her booties standing on one foot.

Honestly, did she have to have a glorious revelation in the midst of passionate intimacy?

Sensing my bitterness, Emily hobbles over to me, attempting to pull her other bootie on one footed, as I push my arms through my jacket sleeves. "Don't worry. We'll finish this later. Thank you though!" She presses a plump kiss to my cheek.

While we're at this, I might as well stop by next door to tell Soul that I don't plan on taking anymore of his love.

* * *

><p><strong>Somewhere near the Fault of Andres<strong>

The stories were the same in the sections of the news papers dedicated to less interesting headlines.

_Homeless Population Vanishes _

_Local Brothel Discovered; Occupants Missing_

_Half Way House Reports Five Missing Patrons_

No one missed the vagrants, the diseased, the hookers, the street walkers, the runaways, the useless.

That's why they're so easy to take. They're like cockroaches. No matter how many you squash there's always plenty more.

Tonight Giriko picked up a whore. Bleach blonde hair, pancake makeup, fake Gucci purse, clothes she probably had to starve herself to fit into, barely eighteen. Ran away from home at sixteen. Wanted to be an actress. Typical sob story.

Despite being the scum of the earth, they were still useful in the fact that they still had human souls.

And they needed as many human souls as possible to keep their growing goddess…growing.

Giriko slashed her throat when she pulled down his boxers.

He didn't want a diseased mouth sucking his cock.

From there, Justin gave the girl her last rites as she struggled to speak with her voice box severed from her throat. Amen.

Then it was Gopher's job to get rid of the evidence. Easy. Gasoline and a lighted match. They had to kill her. Robbed souls left too much evidence behind. They couldn't talk but they would cause front page headlines.

Cain took care of the souls.

Dissected it, infused it with black blood and other vitamins to sustain their project, and fed it to her.

Only a few more weeks and she would be ready to unleash.

Now her familiar features were filling out. He couldn't have chosen a better, unwilling donor of DNA than Valentine.

Their daughter was beautiful. Red hair, pale skin, full lips, a monster in Lolita's guise. The angel of madness.

The plan was forming between ventures into other towns for fresh souls to pick.

Emily was a stubborn girl. Stubborn in that she cared too much.

How everyone loves a martyr.

Cain, despite all of his loathing for the girl, he still had yet to pick _that _bone with her, began to contemplate the idea of her being his concubine. She's a rebellious girl who needs to be put in her place.

So they will take something else from her. Something that she would do anything for. Justin's connections to the DWMA were proving quite useful.

Noah thought that a Shinigami would be a perfect addition to his collection.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

And to the withheld breath of probably five people, I present chapter eleven after too long of a wait.

And the plot thickens with really not much going on in this chapter because I owe my lack of an update to my first case of writer's block for this story.

One day I hope my story updates will reach as far and as wide as Homestuck.

Never going to happen.

If you've noticed, while this story takes place after the anime ending, I am incorporating the manga to play much of a role in this story.

And I shall present you with a more climactic version of Operation Kid's In a Book than him and Black Star having a late night TV show chat with each other.

One thing I hope is that I'm not rushing through this story. For right now I feel like I'm going at a fairly steady pace, but here come the comments from the peanut gallery from stage left shouting no sexual activity until at least three fourths of the story has been covered.

But hey, I'm catering to the great people who read fanfiction. This isn't AP English after all (I would know, I take it.)

**Playlist**

**Every You and Every Me by Placebo**

**Bang, Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) by Nancy Sinatra**

**Signal Fire by Snow Patrol**

**Your Woman by White Town**

**Satellite by The Kills**

Please send me reviews because I'm not getting paid to do this and I'm a high school senior and just please do it since it makes me feel happy!

Nicole


	12. Six Kinds of Glue

"_Time ain't gonna cure you honey_  
><em>Time don't give a shit<em>  
><em>Time ain't gonna cure you honey<em>  
><em>Time's just gonna hit on you<em>  
><em>I said six kinds of glue<em>  
><em>Won't hold you<em>"

**- The Kills, 'Tape Song'**

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

"_Nnnng…ah!"_

"_You're…ah…you feel so warm."_

I'm a ghost haunting the scene.

The air is loaded with the smell of sex and the humidity of two bodies trying to devour each other. The mix of moaning and grunting plays out in a heated melody, like a tribal dance, where each thrust and buck of the hips accents a new note.

"_K-Kid…please...nng!, harder."_

"_Ha…ha…prepare yourself love."_

While I stand at the foot of my bed, unnoticed and invisible, I'm watching myself dance in a tangle of limbs, naked and coated with a dewy sheen of sweat.

Kid thrusts faster into my body as my fingers dig dents into his back, desperately trying to claw myself into his body.

I don't understand anything.

"_Ahhh..."_

"_H-hey, look at me. Emily…nng…look at me while we make love. I want to see."_

I'm losing my virginity. But I lost my innocence a long time ago.

His naked back arches and curves with every deep thrust, accompanied by my strangled cries for more.

In the end, I'm just watching two horny teenagers going at it like fucking rabbits. But this pain I feel in my chest is absolute shit.

"**You really don't recognize yourself anymore. You're on the receiving end of someone's cock and you don't even understand who you really are! Foolish girl.**"

I turn to see my parasite, my doppelganger, my monster, sitting cross legged in my desk chair, watching the scene before us with lusty eyes and squirming with arousal. I hate that fucking voice. And I hate that fucking Glasgow smile. She sneaks a peek at me from the corners of her white eyes. "**No one is impervious to the pleasures of the flesh. All you and I want is to be are loved and touched and fucked. You want to be someone's pet again and please them like you want to please everyone else, like a filthy dog."**

Kid leans over to suckle at my breast.

"You don't know what I want. You're not me."

A dark chuckle behind me sends my blood running backwards. "Truth is doll face, every last piece of you belongs to me. Your lips, your tits, your pussy, and every last drop of blood you're full of are mine. I'm still the first person to make you sing so sweetly."

Cain takes a piece of my hair in his hand, rubbing it against his cheek and twirling the strands in his fingers. I can't move. "I don't have to stick my cock into your filthy flesh. No matter how he touches you, you're still my property."

My moaning grows loader.

"Is this supposed to piss me off? Scare me? What do you freaks want?"

Kid's throwing my legs over his shoulders.

"_Kid…I'm so close._"

"**Give in. Without me you're weak, you're nothing, you're just the hilariously shitty end of a legacy you never could carry in the first place."**

Cain slithers his hand to my scalp, tugging forcefully at my roots. "Get on your knees and pray cherry. Pray that I don't fuck you, because I'll make every second as painful as possible."

"_Cum for me."_

And we both scream.

And I'm sitting up in bed, holding my face feeling both sick to my stomach and guiltily aroused.

This is the kind of bullshit that makes me want to drink a bottle of Drano. You can scrub away at your skin with steel wool all you want but you can't wash the stink from your insides.

What's a lovely way to start off a Monday morning?

Waking up like a bat out of hell unsure whether to take a cold shower or gag over the toilet bowl.

* * *

><p>"You know I think you being in that coma made you smarter, if that's possible."<p>

"Hmm? Why do you suppose that Thurston?"

"Or maybe you just got dumber."

"Shut up Kenji! You tell me if it's normal for a chick comatose up until a couple of days ago to kick your ass in Scrabble."

"Because 'foofle' is not a word."

"Man, how do you and Emily take walking up all these stairs every day?"

"God Thurston, if you whine about these stairs one more time I'm going to punch you so hard in the stomach that you barf your breakfast burrito up." I say, turning on my heel and peering over my sunglasses.

"Damn, what's got you so sour?" Thurston, to his credit, mans up and races to my side, shoving his tooth grin in my face.

"Okay, ew. I can still smell that burrito in your breath," I hold my hand up to my face, shielding my mouth and nose from the full assault of processed egg and cheese. "And what, everyone is in a good mood Monday mornings?"

Lucy pulls her leather satchel secure onto her shoulder. "You do appear rather disgruntled this morning."

"I had a bad night of sleep." And no amount of caffeine can solve that problem unless you want to pee blood for a week. I really hope that's just a myth.

As we reach the top of the stairs, Thurston stops, bending over at the waist to catch his breath. "Are you kidding me? 'You wake up on the wrong side of the bed and you just climbed all those stairs without breaking a sweat?"

I remove my sunglasses, folding them up and putting them in the front pocket of my back pack. "You'll get used to it."

"That's no fair! You're even wearing heels!"

"Uh, Emily, why's everybody staring at you?"

I run a hand through my hair, turning to Kenji who has the familiar expression of 'You did something and I'm going to have to prepare myself for when I find out what it is, right?'

Now that it's been brought to my attention, I look around at the normal clusters of students standing around and making their way into the school. Yup, they're staring at me all right. And whispering. And cocking their heads at me, as if I won't notice. And pretty much gawking at me like dead fish.

Mondays suck.

"For once I have absolutely no clue what I've done to receive any attention." We walk through the door, and I'm immediately assaulted by Patti, pulling me into a boob crushing hug and giggling hysterically.

Not good, not good, not good.

"Kid! Kid! Your girlfriend is here!"

…

The letter of the day is 'F', as in 'fuck my entire existence'.

As Patti releases me, I come face to face with none other than a very embarrassed Kid, blushing up to his ears and looking downright uncomfortable in his suit. "It wasn't me I assure you!" He cries, waving his hands in front of his face as if I'm going to give him a black eye.

I turn to look at Kenji, who's giving his first, and certainly not last, face palm of the day.

"If this isn't explained to me in the next five seconds I'm kicking all of your butts."

Lucky I brought my brass knuckles today.

On cue, Lucy and Liz and Patti all point at each other, Liz looking guilty, Patti giggling, and Lucy looking unsurprisingly pleased with herself.

"Oh Emily! I'm sorry but I just had to tell someone! It's quite lovely, isn't it? Your weapon and Kid's weapon are dating and now their meisters are in a passionate romance! Aren't I the cupid?"

Liz buries her face into her hands. "Lucy called me about it Saturday night and I let it slip to Patti who posted it on Deathbook and oh my God I am so sorry about my big mouth!"

Well that explains why my email was filled with over fifty messages from Deathbook (Facebook for DWMA students and staff). Instead of reading any of them like any observant person would, I marked them as spam and went back to watching Toddlers and Tiaras.

Apparently Kid didn't check his Deathbook within the last twenty four hours either. Everyone else, it appears, did.

Except for Kenji, who turns to me and says, "Is this true? Are you and Kid…are you two dating?"

And neither of us bothered to change our relationship status on Deathbook. No wonder people are talking.

While I'm standing here speechless for once, Kid recomposes himself and extends his hand to Kenji in that irritatingly (But sort of adorable) dignified manner. "I promise to take care of her with ever ounce of my being. I give you my blessings with Liz and if you give me yours, I assure you I will do everything in my power to make her happy."

If this were a sitcom the television audience would be 'awe'ing at this scene. I just want a cigarette because this is giving me a serious case of the douche chills.

Kenji gives me a quick look, silently asking me for either a 'Yes shake hands with him so we can go hold hands and exchange Valentines' or a 'No oh my God save me from this creep'.

"Kenji I'm a big girl, you don't have to be my mouthpiece." I'll go with saying this instead.

"So, is that a yes or a no?"

Holy hell. "Yes."

Kenji turns back to Kid and they shake hands, because apparently I'm something like a business deal to them. Yeah, wow, this is pathetic.

"And if you hurt Liz, I shall speak to you through the barrel of Patti's shotgun."

"I was gonna say the same thing about Em, but I'm gonna slice your bangs half off in your sleep."

Hi. My name is Emily Valentine I am surrounded by absolute idiots.

Patti begins to cheer and clap her hands. "Yay! Everyone's in love!"

Liz, who has kept relatively silent throughout this whole fiasco, mostly out of guilt, speaks up. "Hey Emily, let me make it up to you for being such a loud mouth. Patti and I get half off on everything at this boutique downtown. Do you, Lucy and the guys want to come and pick out outfits for the big party next week?"

Oh that's right. Kid's having the Sweet Sixteen to end all Sweet Sixteens next Friday. With all the investigations about martyrs and Deathbook drama it's sort of slipped my mind.

And I need a dress.

"Liz that sounds absolutely lovely! Doesn't it Emily?" Lucy says, still showing no sense of remorse for opening her big trap. For a certified genius she does some really moronic things. This ranks about second behind wandering around on the high way to pick up road kill to dissect on the list of 'Dumb Things Lucy Wallace Has Done'.

"Sure, sounds cool. Liz, don't upset yourself over it. Lucy is the one who should be buying me frappucinos all week."

"Actually Liz, I'll have to decline this outing," Kid says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I have to have a talk with my father after class today. But be assured that if either of you select something asymmetrical to wear you-"

"Yeah, yeah, we'll have to return it or you'll burn it and stuff, I know. And don't worry, I'll be sure to pick something nice and symmetrical for your little girlfriend too." She smirks, giving me a wink I'm not sure whether to take as mischievous or teasing.

I hope it's teasing because Kid would probably kill himself if I showed up to his party as his date wearing something with a sloped shoulder strap.

"Sweet man, free stuff!" Thurston says. Did I mention he's a complete party animal by the way? No. No you have to understand. He got a mosh pit going at my fourteenth birthday party. Nana Valentine ended up losing her teeth. We never did find them.

First bell goes off, signaling the start of the allotted five minutes to get to class.

While everyone else walks off to Moon Crescent class, suddenly realizing today is the day Professor Stein would be dissecting some exotic animal that's probably endangered, Kid and I stay where we are, trying hard to shake the awkwardness of today's early events off of our shoulders.

"If I had known what sort of circumstances this morning would bring I would have called you in warning." He says, shuffling his feet sheepishly.

"If I had known I probably would've stayed home. People are nosy. It's best just to let them get it out of their systems. As soon as Stein starts ripping apart some poor exotic bird in five minutes they'll have something else to talk about," Speaking of that, who the hell keeps on letting him bring in endangered animals to dissect? Maybe he's stealing them from the local zoo? Drug cartels? Exotic animal hoarders? "So what do you have to talk to your dad about?"

Kid looks off for a moment. "You."

Oh.

I should probably tell my folks about these new developments as well.

"You don't think he'll approve of me?" God, it's weird to be talking like this.

I'm in another relationship. I'm somebody's _girlfriend _again. But this is real. He actually likes me. Probably even _loves _me, if that's possible.

And that dream felt so real too.

"Of course he'll approve. My father quite adores you. I think it's just proper to discuss it with him, though I dread doing it. It's rather uncomfortable." Kid says, his face scrunching in distaste. He's probably thinking about his father telling him the 'birds and the bees' or whatever grim reapers call the sex talk.

"I can imagine. God speed to you." Though it probably won't be as awkward as telling mom and dad that I'm canoodling with Lord Death's son, that's for sure. You think Lucy was sappy about it? Just wait.

Before I can pull away to walk off to class, Kid reaches forward, taking my jaw in his hand, and runs his thumb under the corner of my mouth, curving down under my lip.

And people are watching, mind you.

"You were in a rush getting ready this morning, weren't you? Your lipstick is uneven." He says, pulling away and taking out a handkerchief from his jacket, wiping the red off of his thumb.

Sauvé, huh?

"Hey, no PDC."

"PDC?"

"Public Displays of Compulsion." I say, fixing the studs of my lip rings with my tongue.

Kid smirks and bends his arm out for me to take. "Walk with me to class?"

Someone is still taking tips from Soul Eater Evans I see. Despite the overdone roll of the eyes I give him, I lock my arm in his and we walk to class, amidst a barrage of whispers from passing students.

"You know we never did finish what we started Friday afternoon."

"Don't push your luck Kid."

* * *

><p>"Hey guys, wouldn't it be funny if I wear this powder blue suit ironically to the party?"<p>

"NO THURSTON."

Welcome to Velvet and Death, a store in which Thurston is most likely going to be kicked out of within the next ten minutes.

"Hey Liz, I thought Kid was making all guest wear black?" I pull a nude colored, bandage dress from the rack, giving it a quick look over before deciding I don't want to look like a guidette.

"He was, but I talked him out of it. Black is such a gloomy color."

I stare at her, pursing my lips. I do like my little black dresses.

"How did you and your sister manage to receive half off of everything in this little store? It's quite upscale and DWMA students already get major discounts. Basically, you're only paying for about five point seventy two percent of any item in the store." Lucy says, holding a pretty mint chiffon dress to her chest in the mirror.

"Did she just do that math in her head?"

"Lucy has a ridiculously high IQ, believe it or not. So yeah, she did," I take a quick look at a structured red dress before moving down on the rack. "But yeah, how are you getting away with paying five point seventy two percent of everything in this store?"

Liz smiles to herself. "After we helped defeat Asura, Death City rewarded us by granting each of us with whatever we wanted from the city. Patti and I asked to pay scraps for couture gear, Maka asked for a private collection of book in the DWMA library, Soul asked for a new piano, Black Star asked for free food from Six Six Six Guys, Tsubaki asked for a free spa day once a month, and Kid asked for eight silver rings from the jewelry dealer." She checks the label on a powder blue dress, before grimacing and putting it back.

"SIS! HEY SIS! LOOKIT THIS ONE!"

And Patti is holding up what appears to be a slutty version of Little Bo Peep's dress or a melting ice cream cake. I can't tell which.

"No Patti. Kid wants us to get matching dresses that are 'symmetrical'," She puts mock quotations around the word, like Kid does. "Besides, we're supposed to get Gucci dresses and that definitely ain't Gucci."

Patti frowns, slumps her shoulders, and shuffles back to the rack with her respective sizes.

"What do you two have in mind anyways? I know where they keep all the good dresses!" Liz says, winking.

"Something pastel and lovely, I suppose. I'd like to look as if I've emerged from a garden!"

"Black."

For a moment Liz looks befuddled. "Damn, could you two have more opposing tastes? Lucy, there are some chic Ellie Saab gowns over there! And Emily, I hope you're familiar with Alexander McQueen."

Alexander McQueen? "They have McQueen here?" I can't help the pure excitement in my voice. Yes, I do come from some amount of money, if you've taken note of my Gareth Pugh purse and Vivienne Westwood rings. But owning an Alexander McQueen dress is pretty much a dream of mine. The man's a fashion genius.

"Yup. Alexander McQueen and Gareth Pugh even make custom suits for Kid."

Is it possible to barf from excitement?

While Lucy goes over to a rack of lacy, peaches, lavenders, and mints, I follow Liz to a secluded corner of the store. Once there, she goes through a rack of black dresses my size before 'ah'ing and pulling out a bundle of black velvet. "One McQueen dress. Go try it on!"

I feel like I'm holding my first born. This sounds completely stupid and materialistic but I'm telling you, a McQueen dress is a pretty big deal.

"And if it isn't symmetrical, well, you know." Liz gives me a little shove in the direction of the upscale-ly furnished dressing rooms, which resemble bridal gown suites with a full runway platform and wall of curved mirrors for details of every angle.

There's even a fucking chandelier. Yeah. Like Kid's bathroom. But bigger.

I chose a curtained stall, carefully laying the gown over the back of a straight backed chair as I work at taking off my clothes.

I guess I'm happy in this brief little moment. I haven't been thinking of martyrs or kishin gods or blood bonds or terrible sexual nightmares. I'm thinking the way a fifteen year old girl should.

Maybe I should have told Kid about the dream? I probably could have slipped him a note about it in the middle of class or pulled him aside during lunch. If it hadn't been for the absolute zoo I walked in on this morning, with Kid almost short circuiting in the middle of it, I might have been able to tell him that on the inside, I'm scared shitless. I want so much but I'm terrified of how it will fall through my fingers.

"_You're just the hilariously shitty end of a legacy you never could carry in the first place."_

I push all thoughts aside. Just give me five more minutes of peace.

I cautiously step into the dress, careful not to step on any of the fine fabric. The material feels smooth and delicate against my skin as I slide the bustier over my breasts. Ah, strapless. Better slip out of my bra straps.

With a little frustration, I manage to zip up the back of the gown.

I haven't even looked at myself in a mirror yet and it already feels right.

I pull back the curtain and catch the first glimpse of myself in the wall of mirrors.

I look…like a legacy.

I'm enveloped in a solid black, velvet mini dress, with a full length, sheer chiffon skirt. The bottom is hemmed with wide, curved velvet trim that swishes around my legs as I walk closer to my reflection. Being strapless, I pull back my hair to get a good look at my collar bone; cleavage, but subtle enough to be considered appropriate. An up do would look best with this dress, a little beehive with drop diamond earrings and smoky cat eyes.

I look like the girl I've always strived to be.

"If you buy that I'm going to have to get Kid condoms for his birthday. That's how good you look."

I whisk away from studying my reflection to see Liz and Patti, both with matching long red gowns draped over their arms, and Lucy, holding a bundle of lavender chiffon against her chest.

I bet Kenji and Thurston are still talking about irony between trying on monkey suits.

"Ha, ha, ha! Let's get him the flavored ones too!"

"I'm just going to pretend that didn't come out of your mouth," I release my hair from it's faux up do. "I'd make a joke about you and Kenji but I'll end up puking on this dress at the thought of my cousin imitating some poorly done porno."

"Oh Emily! It looks like it was made for you! You must wear it to the party!" Lucy says, walking over to an unoccupied changing stall.

I'm five years old again. I'm tearing my mother's closet apart and trying on too big dresses and sliding my tiny feet into shoes comparative in size to ocean liners. I'm standing in the mirror holding a broom stick, which serves as Kenji's stunt double for the moment. I've made him into a Death Scythe. I'm continuing a feminist legacy that Lady Lilith left for me to carry on. I am her. She is me.

In this dress I'm five years old again, playing dress up to make up for what I lack.

Liz, who has occupied a stall with her sister, tosses her low rider jeans over the curtain rail. "Am I a great person to shop with or what? I found you the perfect dress the first try. If you don't wear that you might as well go naked, not that Kid wouldn't like that either."

"Kid's a reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal pervert! Right sis!"

I turn to get a good look at the back of the dress, which shapes with each curve of my spine and twist of my hips. "Again, I really don't want to yack in this dress."

The curtain of Lucy's stall pulls back and she emerges, draped in lavender chiffon with tiered lace detailing and a grosgrain ribbon waist, looking every bit the Neverland fairy princess she hoped for.

Whilst she comes over beside me to swish and twirl in front of the mirror, Liz and Patti stumble out from behind their curtain in the same red, strapless, silk crepe gown. A folding at the top of the bust gives the dresses a Grecian appearance, and shit they look perfect.

I'm now fifteen years old again, remembering that dress up alone doesn't make the woman.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

"Father, there is a reason I wanted to meet with you this afternoon."

I place my cup of Vanilla Chai tea back onto the wooden table, careful to line the bottom up evenly with the edges of the coaster. I cannot stand staining hard wood with cup rings.

My father, taking a plentiful sip from his mug, gives a throaty noise of awareness before setting his tea back down onto its respective coaster. "Of course Kiddo! You know you can talk to your dear old Dad about anything! What's going on in that adorable head of yours?"

I really despise how he continues to ruffle my hair into a detestable mess as if I am still five years old. I believe he continues to do it because he finds it amusing to see me flustered.

"Father please stop doing that, you know how it annoys me," I've perfected the art of smoothing my hair back into place without having to look at my reflection. If any strand is out of place, I feel it. "I've come to speak to you because there have been some new developments in my personal and social life that I wish to discuss with you."

"Oh ho ho ho! How exciting my son!" He practically vibrates with excitement, like a spring flicked by a finger.

Well, here goes nothing. "Father, I am involved in a romantic relationship with someone."

I tighten my hold around my tea cup, bracing for another telling of Shinigami mating rituals.

"Why of course Kid! You're in cahoots with Miss Valentine! Oh ho ho ho, it's all over Deathbook, though I'm confused as to why both of you have yet to update your relationship statuses!"

I slump forward, my nose brushing against the rim of the tea cup. "Honestly, can anyone in this school keep away from that detestable website for more than twenty four hours?"

I feel father patting at my back. "My son finally has his first real girlfriend, and a complete package may I add! Not that any girl would be able to resist someone as cute as you!"

Ugh. "Please refrain from calling me 'cute' father."

I peer back up when I sense my father has stopped patting me like a pet dog. "I knew all along that the two of you would make quite the perfect pair! Prior experience truly does have its advantages!"

'Prior experience'? I perk up. "What do you mean by 'prior experience'?"

My father suddenly stiffens, and I sense a sudden change into discomfort from his normally cheerful demeanor. For those of you who have paid close attention, my father only diverges from his normally exuberant personality into seriousness when it is of dire circumstances. I've struck a nerve pointing out what appears to be a slip of the tongue. "Oh, nothing my son! I was simply talking to myself."

"Father, is there something I ought to know?"

Even his mask is terrible at hiding his expression.

"I wish to know what you meant by 'prior experience'. I thought we agreed not to keep things from each other anymore after the Eibon affair."

To my utter shock, my father appears to be…saddened. I have never seen my father like this.

That is, except for once; my fifth birthday, the fifth anniversary of my mother's death.

But this is a different sadness; a sadness of failure rather than reminiscing.

"Kid, there is something I should tell you about myself."

For the first time, he truly sounds as old as his existence.

"There was someone before your mother whom I also loved and cared for very deeply, although it was one sided; Lady Lilith Kiddo."

I am five years old for a moment, in the middle of carefully folding the removed wrapping paper from my gifts at my side. Father looks sad as he watches me examine a five hundred piece puzzle box. I ask him why he doesn't look happy. Did I displease him? He tells me no, that he is thinking of my mother.

My mother was a human. While it is completely normal for a human to bear the child of a Death God, my mother was a sickly woman. Despite being Death himself, even my father couldn't save her from dying in child birth. She knew she was going to die, but she desperately wished give my father a child, something for him to remember her by, and final proof of her love for him and for life.

Father always told me there was nobody he loved like my mother, Eileen Bones.

"Many years ago, I fell for Lady Lilith. By all accounts she was a remarkable woman, and your mother had the same spark for life she possessed. However, whilst she was stationed overseas during the first World War, she fell in love with an American soldier by the name of Daniel McDouglas. By the end of the war, she expressed to me her desire to retire from making Death Scythes to marry, start a family, and open a school of her own in McDouglas's hometown of Boston. She explained that she held a very strong place in her heart for me, but she loved me as a daughter would love her father. Though I was heartbroken, my love for her continued. I aided her in opening up Shibusen International Network Technical School and gave her my full blessings in matrimony."

The sadness of an unattainable and unrequited love begins to dissipate, replaced by the sense of a reminiscing smile spreading under his mask.

My father does, after all, have a human form under his eccentric guise.

"Before she passed away, Lady Lilith expressed her desire that I should take good care over her first female meister heir, believing she would carry on her legacy years after her death. Upon that simple request I gave her my word. Mere weeks after you were born, I received word from Boston that a female heir had been born. Three years later, I received word that Emily Lilith Valentine was capable of meister abilities. This is why I kept the affairs with Emily between the two of us, to protect her as Lilith would have wanted.

"Son, do you know why your name is Death the _Kid _as opposed to something along the lines of Death Junior or Son of Death?"

I glance briefly at my half empty cup of tea, my thumbs smoothing around the rim. "I was always under the presumption it's homage to Billy the Kid."

"True, the arrangement of your name is a reference to the cowboys. However, I named you after Lilith Kiddo. I do call you 'Kiddo', don't I?"

My father is an honorable man. Though he is capable of mistakes as much as he is capable of power, the most he is capable of wielding is love.

I can only hope to be as well balanced a man as he is one day.

* * *

><p>Upon waking up in a state of unfulfilled arousal for the fifth night in a row, the first thing I thought about was the circumstances that surround the sexual nature of Grim Reapers.<p>

As much as I prefer not to dwell on the humiliatingly awkward things my father has said to me, the more times I dream of intimacy with Emily Valentine, the harder it has become to avoid considering what the first meeting of private flesh will be like.

For the most part, the sexual nature of Grim Reapers is not all that different from that of human beings. However, the most notable differences can be found in stamina and sex drive.

While the normal adolescent human male would have a hard time controlling…well…controlling when they finish, Grim Reapers possess inert endurance humans males have to build up.

As my father put it, "The first time you have sex you'll be overcome with lust!"

As the books describe it, "The sex drive of a Grim Reaper is comparable to those of an incubus."

These notable differences are due not only to evolution, but to the fact that even when a Grim Reaper procreates with a human to bear offspring, the child will be a pure blooded Reaper.

That being said, I've begun to find it harder and harder to pull the reins on these recently introduced desires to engage in sexual activity.

This time I dreamed we were making love on an altar.

And this time I couldn't fall asleep after finishing off the half complete state of arousal I awoke in.

I am not a deranged lunatic, though many have accused me based off of my compulsive desire for symmetry. While peering through the window at the sleeping girl you wish to share deep intimacy with sounds mad, I am excusing my behavior as the side effect of first love.

Instead of falling back to sleep like I should have, I grabbed Beelzebub and flew out the window.

She's quite pretty when she sleeps. It's comforting to see her looking so peaceful.

But it's only an illusion.

I observed the faint appearance of dark circles under her eyes earlier. When Emily got up to acquire another packet of soy sauce for her sushi bento box, I inquired Kenji about her sleeping habits.

"Well, she has nightmares a lot lately. Some nights she refuses to go back to sleep, some nights she cries, and some nights she wakes up screaming."

She appeared to sleep peacefully the night she crawled into bed with me.

I notice her hand ball into a fist by her cheek defensively. It's the first sign of impending danger.

I really hope she won't consider this breaking and entering, because I have just pushed up the screen and the window to her room.

I simply need her to feel my presence for just a moment to ensure a peaceful sleep. I myself can't stop myself from the magnetic force that reels me into her.

Attempting to keep every step on the hardwood floor muted, I carefully make my way over to her sleeping form.

Her mouth is twitching. That balled fist is starting to shake. Her closed eyes are knitted together in attempt to fend off some dark, mental force that must feel all too real in the unconscious.

I desire for more.

So I find my fingers brushing against the edges of layered blankets, carefully observing every rise and fall of her breasts that indicates steady breathing.

She makes a noise comparable to a whine.

Now I am pulling the blankets up and sliding myself beside her in this full sized bed.

I feel a new sense of excitement that comes from two bodies with so little distance between them.

Emily's wavelengths are convulsing.

My fingers lightly brush over the bare, creamy skin of her shoulder. The meeting of soul wavelengths is catalyzed by touch.

It is the basis of sexual intercourse; the merging of two souls and two minds with the merging of two bodies.

Her hair is still damp from a shower she must have taken before bed. The skin under my fingertips is still sensitized by hot water and scented soaps and lotions. I bury my face into the back of her neck, breathing in the full scent of pomegranate hair treatments and cucumber body wash.

The heat in my lower half begins to build as my fingers dance a trail down the length of her arm.

A mix of sounds and syllables reaches my ears, none of which I can string together into a phrase of proper English. But the tones of the whimpers tell me she's in the midst of pleading with some horrible mental manifestation.

I pull the lasso tighter around her wavelengths.

My heart thuds hard against my chest.

The first thing that alerts me is the sharp intake of a breath, an airless gasp of suspense. Then I feel myself pinned down to the mattress by a weight sitting over my pelvis, hands locking my neck into place with thumbs threatening to push down on my throat.

"Who the fuck are you!"

She still thinks she's in danger.

With as much caution as I can manifest, fearing any second she will succeed in mistakenly strangling me into unconscious, I lift my hand to brush her cheek in a gentle caress.

"E-Emily…I-It's…M-Me."

With what little light bleeds in through the window, I shift my head a fraction of an inch into a beam of moonlight.

Emily's eyes widen in breathless realization. Her chokehold around my neck loosens.

"You whimper in your sleep you know-OW!"

And she is laying heavy punches across my chest.

"What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing. Here!" She spits at me in a hushed tone of fury.

"Ouch! I wanted to see you! Ugh! Stop hitting me!"

The next oncoming, bruising punch freezes in midair, Emily's expression changing from annoyance to something softer and touched. "So you sneak in during the middle of the night?"

Or maybe she isn't keen on dropping the annoyance.

"I suppose you believe it's appropriate for you to do to me?" I say as she slides off of my pelvis to lie back down at my side, her elbow propped against her pillow supporting the weight of her head. "You appeared to be having a nightmare, and I couldn't help myself. I just want you to feel safe."

Once again, Emily's expression softens into something full of heart, but it soon withers into a countenance of sadness. "I had the worst dream. I was alone in a dark room and you were hurt. I think you were dying," Her eyes flicker back to gaze into my mine. "Someone came up behind me laughing and the next thing I know I've got you in a chokehold. Sorry."

To be fair, I probably should have refrained from taking liberties with brushing the soft skin on her arm.

I take a hold of the arm draped across her hip, bringing her wrist up to my face. I press a gentle kiss to the inside, feeling the pulse of blood running through the tangle of veins. "I'd die before leaving you open to danger like that."

I can see the shadow of a blush cross her face in the moonlight, but she doesn't pull her wrist away. "At least I'm awake now that you're trying to molest me with all this sappy Shakespearean romance."

I can tell her sarcasm is just a front of stubborn pride. I can feel the way her soul wavelengths respond to me.

"I dream about you. Albeit, in much lighter circumstances."

It's the effect of the powerful sensation of lust still pumping through my heart that allows these words to slip past my filter. However, I truly have always wanted her to know that, even though she's looking at me with a cocked brow.

"Okay, I'll bite. What about?"

I open my mouth to suckle a patch of skin where her wrist meets the swell of her hand. "Kissing you, touching you, making you feel as delightful as you truly are."

Emily slides of her propped up elbow to rest her chin by my shoulder, looking up at me with an expression of amusement. "What's got you all hot and bothered? Seriously, do all Grim Reapers turn into complete horn dogs or is it just me?"

It's only you that makes me feel this way.

Though I want us to share the exquisite feeling of intimately joining our bodies, just feeling your warmth at my side is quite enough for the moment.

I wrap one arm around her waist, pulling her close against my chest, her head filling the space between my neck and shoulder.

We fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

I give a tired chuckle in reply, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She groans, as I knew she would, in response. But her soul wavelengths don't lie. They've calmed down substantially. The blackness has receded back into its shelter for the night.

I believe for once in my life I have found something I have more feelings to obsess over than the aesthetic of symmetry.

We can always finish the activities of Friday night some other day. For now I'll let her sleep peacefully in my arms.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

Wow! Thank you guys so much for all the wonderful new reviews! I am so happy people are enjoying this story. It makes posting each chapter worth all the hours I put into writing them. To all my new readers, I am delighted you've given this story a chance and are pleased with what I've done. It means a lot to know that people enjoy reading this,

I don't want to call this a filler chapter, but for the most part this chapter serves to take a break (sans the opening scene) from all the freaky shit going on.

Fun fact: Do you know why I named her Lilith Kiddo? Lilith, along with being in reference to the first wife of Adam in the Jewish faith (also the face of feminism), it's a dorky homage to Neon Genesis Evangelion. Kiddo is an homage to the Kill Bill series and Quentin Tarantino (I've inserted a lot of references to his movies in this story already, not only Kill Bill but Pulp Fiction as well), the last name of The Bride and Bill's nickname for her in the movie.

For those of you who have noticed, this story takes place in 2008, in accordance to a designated time in which the Soul Eater anime started production. Personal head canon, of course. I wish we were still back in that time where the great Alexander McQueen was still alive. Rest in peace love.

**Playlist**

**Nina's Dream by Clint Mansell (From Black Swan)**

**Tape Song by The Kills**

**Drag by Placebo**

**Diet Mtn Dew by Lana Del Rey**

**I Will Possess Your Heart by Death Cab For Cutie**

**No Surprises by Radiohead**

Again, thank you guys so much for the reviews! I'll shut up now.

And rest assured, I don't plan on abandoning this story at all. I've spent two years planning this, and I already have the end planned in my head.

- Nicole


	13. My Better Half

_"Better you, better me _  
><em>My better half has bitten me <em>  
><em>To better you, better me <em>  
><em>I'm sleeping with my enemy <em>  
><em>Myself <em>  
><em>Myself"<em>

**- Hole, 'Jennifer's Body'**

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

Today's good morning note neatly quoted William Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_.

'_Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.'_

_Kid_

It isn't the same as waking up to the warmth of someone's chest or the feeling of languid breathing in your hair, but I'll say it is pretty…sweet.

For the past couple of days I've been woken up to Kid carefully climbing through my window and slipping into my bed, which I would normally take annoyance with (since I really prefer to be left alone in my sleep) if it weren't for the mess my head makes of itself at night. I also hate to admit it, but there's something very comforting about being held and protected when you're physically at your most vulnerable.

Believe it or not, I've slept peacefully these last three nights. No visions of body horror and carnage, no repeated footage of psychological torture, no voyeurism of watching myself loosing what innocence I have left. I've made it a point not to tell him about that last dream. Sadly, I'll be keeping it to myself, as much as I want to puke it all up.

Tuesday morning he left me a quote from _Jane Eyre_.

'_Her coming was my hope each day_

_Her parting was my pain._

_The chance that did her steps delay_

_Was ice in every vein.'_

_I do not want to depart from your side, but I do not intend for your cousin to chop me up into tiny pieces if he discovers you with 'company'. I shall wait for you in front of the school come tomorrow._

_Kid_

On Wednesday I was treated to John Donne.

'_Such wilt thou be to me, who must,_

_ Like th' other foot, obliquely run;_

_Thy firmness makes my circle just,_

_ And makes me end where I begun.'_

_- Kid_

It's only been a week, but there's this strength I feel that makes up for every day I didn't let him cradle my heart in his hands. I never worried he'd be anything like Cain, but what I had worried about was what _I _would feel like after relinquishing to the desire to let someone into my life in that way.

Just to be clear, I'm not abandoning everything I've said within the last two months. I'm still more than wary of 'love' and 'intimacy', but the Romantics emphasized the idea that intuition rules over logic. Both have gotten me into an equal amount of trouble.

Do I genuinely like Kid? Yes.

Could I possibly come to love him in the future? Hold your fucking horses.

Am I drawn to the look in his eyes that's been showing up as of lately, like he's trying to hold back on whatever hormonal impulses are forcing him onto the edge of his seat? I'm a fifteen year old girl in the midst of, what bullshit movie summaries describe as, a 'coming of age'.

All of this being said, nothing particularly interesting has been happening since Monday, although I was delightfully treated an awkward phone call with my mother Tuesday morning. Lord Death called her to discuss how happy he was for his son to be in 'cahoots' with her daughter. Well, she ended up leaving me _twelve_ voicemails on my cell, all squealing and demanding I call her back as soon as I got 'this' message, and I called her myself before heading off to the DWMA. I'd go into detail but I really don't want to suffer from another self induced headache.

Not much has even been going with Spartoi either for that matter. Maka and Soul left Tuesday morning to investigate a suspected hideout around the San Andres Fault, and they still have yet to give us any word. Other than that it's been nothing but the frustrations of searching through databases for a tidbit of missed information that's going to get us somewhere.

I think I'm starting to miss Stein's therapy sessions and picking the stuffing out of the arm chair.

I've sort of forgotten what it feels like to do a rush job on homework I should've gotten done last night. I haven't missed it. "Oh for the love of…Lucy, give me a college level summary on last night's reading passage on the genetic makeup of Demonic Weapons in ten seconds or less!"

Kenji shakes his head. "I can't believe you wasted an entire afternoon eating Ben and Jerry's ice cream and watching _The Bad Girl's Club_."

"Oh, like that's any worse than all the times you've stayed up past midnight playing _Halo_," I start beating my pen against my half filled out homework assignment. My penmen ship is sloppy with the added element of time constraint, and let's see, I have approximately three more minutes to complete this God damn thing before Stein decides to jar my liver. "Or Thurston leaving you with a two hundred dollar late fee for renting _Air Bud_ on your Blockbuster account."

Thurston, upon hearing his name, takes his iPod earbuds out. "Whazzup?"

"Not the same Emily. But now that you mention it, dude, you still owe me that two hundred for your embarrassing choice in movies." Kenji says, his face going from serious to resurfaced irritation in less than a blink.

"First of all, don't hate on _Air Bud_ man. Second, I thought we agreed those Dillinger Escape Plan tickets made up for that!"

"Not after that drunk guy puked all over my Nikes. Those were also two hundred dollar sneakers."

Great, I've inadvertently activated Beavis and Butthead.

"Lucy, make it under five seconds."

She peeks up from behind the pages of the thick, leather bound copy of _The Psychology of Witches_. "Hmm? Oh, yes! Well-"

However, luck clearly isn't with me today, as a sudden outbreak of-God it just sounds like an animal stampede-noise outside the class room cuts off any hope I have of keeping my liver.

"EVERYONE GET OUT OF MY WAY! IMPORTANT STUFF! MOVE!"

"BLACK STAR, SLOW DOWN!"

"Oh wonderful, more unneeded shenanigans." Well, I suppose the challenge of getting an hour long homework assignment done in under ten minutes has officially come to an end. I guess this half complete paper could make a pretty bad ass paper airplane.

In a fog of dust kicked up from probably annihilating everything in his path, from unfortunate students to innocent book racks most likely, Black Star barges into the room, coming to a screeching halt a good inch from our seats.

Always has to make an entrance, doesn't he?

People outside of the room are complaining. Someone's homework was apparently lost to the vortex he picked up from running so fast.

"Hello Black Star! Nice to see you coming to class early!" Lucy dog ears her place in her book and sets it on her lap, all but oblivious to the mass number of casualties out in the hall. Someone's screaming "My leg!"

"Yo, you guys! Maka and Soul are back! And Stein wants us all to meet immediately!"

"They're back? We haven't even heard anything from them since they left!" Kenji says, his eyes going wide behind the lenses of his glasses.

Lucy places a finger to her chin. "Well it must be of particular importance if the Professor wants us all to gather on such a short notice."

"Hey Emily, looks like you're going to get away with not doing your homework!" I don't know why Thurston thinks it's acceptable to playfully punch me in the shoulder like a 'bro'.

"Okay, so no one here is going to ask why it's so urgent?" I'm a straight woman amongst atmospheric idiots apparently. "I for one would like to know."

Black Star crosses his arms across his chest. "Well if I knew it would be my Godly duty to inform you, duh!"

I smirk of mischief creeps across my lips. "He probably didn't tell you because you'd open your big mouth about it, right?" When it comes to whom to trust regarding secrets and such, I caught on fairly quickly that Black Star is little to be trusted with any sort of information. For example, amongst all the madness on Monday that was the absolute power of the Deathbook gossip mill, Black Star started taking bets amongst the student body about who wears the 'pants' in the relationship. He only stopped when Kid and Maka took respective turns tossing encyclopedias at his skull.

Oh, and apparently most people think I've already got Kid whipped.

Black Star looks as if he's about to call me something along the lines of a 'she devil on her rag' before the sudden remembrance of a 2007 edition for the letters A-C flattening his face reflects in his eyes.

"Does this mean class ain't happening?" Thurston is already packing his bag, to little or no surprise. So far all he's done in class is a carving of the Metalicca logo onto his desk and sleep.

"Huh? Oh nah, Maka's Dad is subbing. Sucks for everyone else, hahahaha!"

Today's lesson: Hustler magazine and ways to creep out your teenage daughter.

Kenji's face twists as if he's just shoved an entire lemon into his mouth. "Whatever he needs to see us for, I honestly don't care, I just don't want to be in the same room with that guy and all of his depressing sob stories about going broke at strip clubs."

"Yes, I suppose its best we leave immediately!" Even Lucy thinks Spirit is strange. Yes, there are even people too _weird _for her.

"They're actually letting him be a sub? Wow, man."

"Yeah let's go." I sling my leather back pack over my shoulder. Unfortunately, the last time my group found themselves in Spirit's presence…you know what, it's too unnerving to recall. All I'll say about it is that a video dating personal and Maka's broken sanity were involved.

"Enjoy class suckers!" Black Star, taking the chance to throw up a couple of Nixon peace signs and stick out his tongue, is met with an icy reception from the other students in the room as the five of us make our way out of the class room.

"Black Star! You threw twelve students through the walls, broke the door to the teacher's lounge, and made Sid-sensei spill hot coffee all over himself! Stop running inside of this school!" Tsubaki, who is out of breath from chasing her meister through most likely destroyed hallways and apologizing to students rapidly on behalf of her partner, stumbles through the door with about as disgruntled of an expression I have ever seen on her usually serene face.

"Yeah but I did it in less than thirty seconds!"

It is officially 7:58 in the morning and I could really go for another shot of caffeine.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

"For God's sake Kid, put those things down! What if some of them are human?"

"Nonsense Liz, this is simply Professor Stein's collection of animal medical oddities. I assure you nothing here is human. But human or not, there's simply no excuse for this collection to be so unorganized!" Yes, this deformed, possibly pig, embryo should go here so it matches the other mutated, though I'm not sure what type of animal it is, embryo on the other side of the shelf.

"Why the hell would that guy bring his sicko collection of mutated crap here? Doesn't he have his own home to keep his weird medical mysteries?" Liz says, flinching with disgust as I pick up a jar with a brain sprouting arms.

"Haha! Sis look at the face on this thing!"

"Patti! Ew! Put that back! Oh God I think I'm going to be sick."

I place the jar on the bottom shelf and take a step back to observe the new arrangement in the glass case. "Hmm, is it right for the two headed snake to be next to the glow in the dark tape worm?"

"How the hell should I know! Just stop touching things!"

I shrug and shut the glass door back over the case. "I suppose it looks fine."

DWMA's on campus laboratory could use some redecorating. Despite having technological capabilities rivaling those found at MIT and NASA headquarters, it lacks symmetry. This lab's measurements are all uneven, first of all. The observation room, which lies behind the two way mirror on the opposite wall, should be _centered_. At least that room's set up is symmetrical; Two surgical chairs with matching medical monitors.

I find most of this school to be very pleasing symmetrically, the only faults stemming from this off dimensional laboratory.

"Good. Does this mean you're done trying to reorganize everything in this room?" Liz groans, leaning up against a lab bench.

"As long as we continue to wait for Black Star and Tsubaki to fetch everyone else I'll persevere with my efforts to organize!" Let's see, there's a supply closet on the other side of the room. I highly doubt it's even clean.

"Oh for the love of…"

"Hey Kid, man! Black Star totally destroyed the school running to get us!"

"Thurston shut your mouth right now! Are you trying to kill him?"

I turn on my heel to see Emily, Thurston, Kenji, Lucy, Tsubaki, and Black Star filter in through the laboratory door. Oh, well I guess my organizational time-_wait a minute_. "What's this about destroying the school?"

If there's one person I do not put it past to absolutely degrade the DWMA's symmetrical value, it is, of course, Black Star. Damages have been numerous and many of my brain cells have been vaporized in the process.

"Nothing, nothing! Sometimes Thurston likes to make really tasteless jokes," Emily says as she walks over to my side, her hand sliding over and onto my shoulder in greeting. "Isn't that right Thurston?" I would say something further but I honestly do not like the way she is glaring with homicidal intent.

Gulping and shaking in his Iron Maiden shirt, Thurston nods and grabs a hold of little Lucy's hand.

Emily's hand, to my discontent, slides away from its place on my shoulder to fall back to her side. "So, do any of you know what the big deal is? Where are Soul and Maka, and even Stein for that matter?" She says as she pulls herself up to sit on the lab bench's table counter, her hair flouncing over her shoulders.

"Good question. I'm starting to think this is another one of Black Star's attempts to lure us into listening to one of his stupid motivational speeches." Liz says, twirling a piece of hair around her finger.

I'm fairly positive I don't have to go into detail to express how genuinely terrible his speeches are. For lack of better words, they're full of unwarranted self importance and often drone on for about an hour.

"Hey! My motivational speeches kick ass!"

"Hey Kenji, do you think Black Star lives in a van down by the river! Hahaha, get it? Like Chris Farley!"

"You know I'm expecting you to pay me back two hundred bucks for renting your stupid basket ball dog movie within two weeks."

Reading the clearly befuddled expression on my face, Emily groans. "Don't ask. Please do anything but ask."

Anything but ask, you say? "How about a good morning kiss then?"

I could live and breathe off of the way Emily's cheeks grow red these days. For such a defiant girl she blushes adorably easily. "It's not really romantic to kiss in front of a trophy case of…" She turns away to briefly look at Stein's collection of jars, a look of slight bewilderment overcoming her features. "You know what? I don't want to know. But it's creeping me out."

"Really? I find my collection of medical animal oddities to be quite fascinating."

Of course, none other than Professor Stein, smoking his morning cigarette, walks in through the door, quickly followed by Soul and Maka. Neither of them appear to be in agreement with his statement.

"Well I for one find it quite delightful! Do you suppose you could let me take a look at that eye covered with cancerous tumors?"

Lucy really is an outlandish girl.

"Maybe some other time Lucy, but for right now there's something urgent that needs our attention." He says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Well, what is it? You only had me run across the entire school for this entire important thing!" Why does Black Star think it's appropriate to pick at the inside of his ears in public? How foul.

"Oh yes, that reminds me. Black Star you're on class room cleaning duty for the next two weeks because of all the damage you caused."

"OH COME ON! SERIOUSLY?"

"Damage?" Oh no, no, no. What if he cracked the pillars again? "Excuse me everyone, but that is my cue that I must take my leave."

My attempt at sprinting away to survey all the 'damage' Black Star inflicted upon the school this morning is thwarted by Emily's fingers wrapping a grip around the back of my collar, effectively holding me back. Honestly, sometimes she's even worse than Liz.

"Tell us what's going on here before Kid has a stroke please." She says as she all but whips me back to her side.

"Maka and Soul captured a clown. It's filled with Cain Iscariot's mutated black blood."

And suddenly, the room is paralyzed with alarm and disbelief.

Emily's fingers loosen and her hand limply falls down my back. "You guys…you guys found _what_?"

Maka, her eyes dark and ominous, nods. "There were a bunch of them running around when we got there. Stein advised us to take one back alive for him to dissect."

"Are you serious? Then they must have just left!" Emily's fist pounds against the counter of the lab table, heavy and trembling with fury.

"We missed them by several hours. Enough time for them to flee to another dirty rat hole." Soul folds his arms over his chest, frowning. He's always shared Maka's sense of justification, and I am positive he looks forward to ripping Justin Law apart as much as I do.

Emily hangs her head, her gaze steadily focusing on her shoes. Her fist is shaking as I slide a comforting hand over it.

"So what then? What good does one of those things serve us?" Kenji says, his voice somewhat shaky as his gaze drifts back and forth between his meister and Professor Stein.

"This means that we finally have the chance to study manipulated black blood that hasn't been assimilated with human blood, like Emily and Lucy. We may not have cornered the enemy, but we have the next best thing." He quickly cranks the bolt in his head a couple of times.

"About two hours ago I removed the soul and took samples of the clown's internal tissues, organs, and of course, its blood. So far, I can confirm only a couple of my theories. The first is that, as I predicated, the reason it's so difficult to detect in human blood is because it possesses an assimilating element. These blood cells mimic the genetic makeup of the host's cells, thus allowing them to go unnoticed in typical blood tests. The second theory I can confirm is that the main difference between normal black blood and this black blood is in its madness inducing effects. Normal black blood is essentially madness itself collected from outside sources. This blood actually amplifies and strengthens madness already contained within the soul. These sources of madness pertain to innate human turmoil. After all, everyone is a little mad.

"Thus, this black blood isn't really black blood at all, but more like a parasitic agent. As of right now, I am classifying this substance as _fantum parasitus _blood."

"Phantom parasite?" Lucy, who up until now has been distracted with observing Professor Stein's trophy case, speaks up.

At the word 'parasite', I can feel Emily's fist stiffen.

The Professor stubs his cigarette out against the surface of his bolt. Thank goodness, because I doubt I can handle a mess of tobacco and ash on the floor. "That leads me to my currently still withstanding theories. From what I've studied of Emily and Lucy, I've developed some ideas about the psychological indications and effects of fantum parasitus. When the substance infiltrates human blood, the madness it amplifies accumulates into something similar to a split personality, one that is aggressive, reckless, and hazardous in nature. This most likely depends on the host's sense of emotional stability. Thus, it works from the inside out. If I were to identify why Lucy, though, hasn't necessarily shown the same characteristics of the predicted effects of fantum parasitus, it's for two reasons. One, Lucy's month long comatose state put her soul into a state of limbo. The blood is a living thing, but like all parasites, it depends on its host to live. At some point Lucy's soul had to come to some sort of equilibrium with the blood, essentially resolving whatever negativity was keeping her from waking up.

"The second reason pertains to the alleged blood bond formed between Emily and Noah's developing kishin god. Fantum parasitus was essential manufactured for the purpose to give the creature life, as it is made up of robbed souls rather than being human. Thus, Emily's parasite has two hosts, acting as a sort of link between the two. Unfortunately, this makes her situation dangerous in that half of the parasite's influence on her soul is _extremely _unpredictable. For the both of you, this means that you have a second presence within your souls to accommodate for the second personality. Theoretically, when seventy percent of your souls are dominated by the parasite, they will be able to replace you as being the one in control. It's even possible that your soul can be consumed."

If you are familiar with waking up in the middle of the night to retrieve something from another floor of your home you are quite familiar with this feeling. You think that there is another step and when your foot falls and meets none of the resistance of that imaginary step, a sensation of panic travels through your blood, preparing you to fall head first into a void of space.

This is the closest I can describe the idea of comprehending what Professor Stein just said.

Emily's hand remains stiff.

"Of course, all of that is purely theoretical. I have to prove it of course." How can he say that so casually?

"What are you saying? That Emily and Lucy could _die_?"

I believe I speak on the behalf of everyone else in this room.

I feel _sick_.

"What needs to be done is a comparative test of Lucy and Emily's reactions to unfiltered fantum parasitus blood. I need to expose them to it if we have any chance of destroying the monstrosity Noah and his group created."

No.

No.

I vowed to protect Emily. If there's one thing I wish to forget it's seeing her in all of that inner pain, watching her suffer from the inside out. I made a promise.

It can't be this way.

"No way in hell. I won't allow you to endanger her like that." My blood is boiling as I instinctively, if not possessively, move over to shield Emily, who has since stopped staring at her feet to look wide eyed at Stein.

From behind me, Kenji softly, but steadily, says, "Professor Stein, there must be another way. Can't you just take blood samples or something?"

Stein shakes his head. "Once the blood is removed from the body it has no influence over its host. It won't tell us anything about their states. This is the only way. Without any of this information we're blind."

"You can't do this! What good will any of it do if you end up killing them!" I can barely recognize my own voice. I would rather subject myself to torture.

"So you're sure there isn't any other way?"

My stomach drops. It's Emily, her other hand laying itself over mine, comforting yet reluctant.

"If there were I wouldn't be proposing this method."

"Then I'll do it."

The words echo in my head in a chain link. That's the only way I can tell they were actually spoken.

"I'll do it as well." Lucy's voice just barely registers in this shell shocked mental state I have slipped into. All of my emotions are becoming detached. This is panic, this is the realization that someone is about to allow them self to _suffer_.

"Emily, no, you don't have to do this!" My eyes meet with hers. Her irises, once bright and shiny like pennies, are suddenly worn and _cold_. She's looking at me the same way she did at Death's Diner and in my bathroom. The self loathing has returned, and it's painful.

"I'm not just yours to protect. You said you'd do anything to help me, didn't you?" Her voice sounds as worn and cold as her eyes. She slips her hands away and pushes herself off of the counter top, leaving me feeling stunned and terrified. "I can make my own decisions you know, and I'm doing this."

My hand reaches out and fails to catch her in my grasp as she walks over to Professor Stein.

A sharp pain fills the space occupied by my heart and it quickly spreads to my lower innards in my abdomen. This is loss.

Kenji and Thurston appear vacant and disoriented.

I must look broken in comparison.

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

"Do we really have to use these things?" Lucy and I don't have very pleasant past experience with being strapped down or restrained. Not that many people do, but I can confidently say it gives me acute anxiety.

Stein locks the strap around my right ankle into place. "They're precautions. I can't risk either of you two hurting yourselves or each other during this exposure." He leans over to the tangle of wires sitting on the foremost monitor. I guess it's supposed to keep track of my soul wavelengths, but for all I know it could just as well make snow cones.

"Still, you didn't have to make them so damn tight." Particularly, the strap around my left wrist is pretty much digging into my skin. Pleasant, right?

My response is the sticking of two monitoring patches onto each side of my temples, two on my chest, two on my shoulders (Stein made me remove my jacket and it's too damn drafty in this stupid room), and two on the insides of my forearms. You know that scene in _E.T. _where all those nosy scientists hook Elliot and E.T. up together? That's what Lucy and I look like right now, a fucking Stephen Spielberg movie.

Straps are in place, monitors are hooked up, and the heart rate monitor is steadily beeping.

This must be what monkeys feel like in medical testing, except I consented.

There are always things we have no choice _but _to do. Yes, there's always the option to decline, but then you walk away with nothing. What good is nothing? None, that's why it's nothing.

Besides the lingering sensation of dread that's pooling in the pit of my stomach, there's also the feeling of regret for basically telling Kid to 'shove it' right in his face. Well, maybe I didn't tell him to 'shove it', but I might as well have by the way his face fell. As soon as I said it I wanted to take it back.

When I watched as Kenji took my jacket from Stein, I felt that terrible feeling of guilt resurfacing. My weapon and the boy I've decided to entrust my heart to have to watch me suffer. It's sick and wrong.

Thurston looked pale and I sensed a spark of animosity towards me. Lucy still has to suffer because of my choices.

As Stein leaves the room, I turn to look at Lucy, arms length away to my left and despite her mask of relaxation, she's just as anxious as I am. "Not that this has anything to do with this or anything else at the moment, but remind me to give you back your copy of _Ariel_."

Since the room is sound proof to outside noise, as well as having a two way mirror (God having to look at myself like this is just _wrong_), Stein has to press a button and speak into a microphone to communicate with us. Sick thing is that everyone outside can see and hear us just fine.

In the long term, it's a good thing that I don't have to see or hear Kid and Kenji. I don't think I'd be able to stand it anymore than this.

" I've converted an amount of the recovered clown's fantum parasitus blood to a gaseous form, which will ventilate out of the air vents in the ceiling. It has the appearance of fog, so be prepared. Simply try to maintain relaxation as long as you can. I'll increase the exposure steadily within a minute and stop when I attain the set maximum I've designated, since it takes that long to retain full readings. Are you two ready?" Professor Stein's voice sounds out from the speakers.

No. Get me the fuck out of here. God, are you there? It's me, Emily Valentine. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Yes."

"Increase exposure to fifteen percent."

Immediately, somewhat translucent, dark grey clouds of smoke filter into the room through the air vents.

My heart monitor's beeping skips and quickens. It's _that _awful stink and my nerves are just overpowered by it. It's bad enough that the sensation of heaviness is starting to press into my head, but shit I can barely breathe! I twist my eyes shut, grimacing. "God this shit smells so bad."

"Yuck, I can taste it!" And Lucy is _never _the type to complain.

"Can you describe what it smells like?" Stein's voice booms.

Like hell, only worse. "Like blood and rotten meat with an under note of burning hair. If I puke all over myself this will officially be the worst day ever."

The nausea in my stomach filters into this acute pulling sensation of ominous dread I can't escape. She's up and about in my spine, crawling up the notches to make her way up and into my brain.

Usually it's unpredictable when I'm going to have a run in with her, but knowing we'll be meeting is really much worse than being surprised. My fingers curl into the flesh of my palms and I pull my bottom lip between my teeth.

I can't let Kenji see this. This is what I've become a slave to. Kenji's always self employed himself as my 'big brother'. For once he wasn't there to look after me, and look at the mess I made.

And Kid. I can't forget about Kid. I can't forget the way he gently, but sadly, pulled back my hair as I regurgitated all that sick or the way his eyes were brimming with the after shocks of agony after seeing me at my most painful. I can't let him witness this again.

I need to fight it.

My heart monitor spikes again. I bite my lip a little harder. I look down at my hands. The veins on the insides of my wrist are popping from my skin.

Swallow it back down like bad medicine.

Suddenly, and I have to double check to make sure it's not _her_, a low giggling sounds out.

I turn to my head to the left. It's Lucy and she's _laughing_. Why in fuck's sake is she laughing?

She's starting to shake with it, and it's so much alike to her weird cases of the giggles. But it's not; it's false and alien masquerading as a shotty copy.

"Hahaha! Emily! Hahaha! Stop trying to fight it! Pfft, hahaha! You need to accept it! Hahahaha!"

Oh God, no. Lucy's letting the madness court her. Why Lucy? Where do you get off on getting a perverted case of hysterics and I have to feel pinpricks of needles gliding up and down my backbone?

God this fucking sucks.

"**She's right you know. You're making it so much harder than it has to be by fighting back. Lucy always does know the right thing to do, unlike you."**

This time, it's certainly her.

I tear my eyes away from Lucy and to the two way mirror's reflection.

But it's not my reflection.

It's the parasite living inside me. The monster serving as my bitter half. That 'split personality'. The imposter.

I just bit my lip so hard that blood is dribbling down my chin.

"**Are you really going to give me the cold shoulder? Well that's quite rude! After all, you're the one who wanted to see me."**

No. I'm looking away. You're not here. You're not based in reality. You're in my head and you're not flesh and blood.

Instead, she travels with my line of sight.

"**Did you just make up some shitty excuse that I'm not real? Oh that's hilarious! Sorry to tell you this, but the only thing here that's not real is _you_. You're fake. You're just bullshit praise and false hope. You didn't make yourself, the people around you did. You're their combined efforts. I'm the real you and you and I both know it."**

She's never been this strong. She's never been able to touch me except in my dreams. Her touch burns.

"**You feel that? It's me getting stronger and you getting weaker. You think Kid loves you now? Just wait until he meets me. I'll be the best fuck he'll ever have."**

"YOU LEAVE HIM OUT OF THIS!"

She's my double. My doppelganger. She looks so much like me, except for that slit smile and those dead fish eyes.

"**Shit, you're feisty today! Well, if you're going to be like that, why don't we take this talk somewhere more private?"**

I want so badly to scream and cry for Stein to fucking end this already, but my voice is gone. She took my voice. She stole my voice like the Sea Witch.

The padded observation room is suddenly _melting _away into unfamiliar darkness.

Am I…am I dying?

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

"FOR GOD'S SAKE YOU'RE KILLING HER!" It's quite amazing how hysterical strength works. It's taking both Soul and Black Star to hold me back from beating that bastard Stein to a bloody pulp and bursting into that room to save her.

Though her body is arching and she's silently screaming, she's apparently unconscious. I can see the smear of blood on her chin and the droplet of blood forming around her wrists, and it hurts as much as a bullet to the chest.

It's all the more sickening when given the soundtrack of Lucy's hysterical laughter.

To the right Liz is kneeling over Kenji, whose eyes rolled back into his head as he fell to the floor moments before.

Thurston is standing alone, pale and horrified as he watches his weapon cackling manically.

"Dammit Kid! Stop!" Black Star tightens his head lock around my neck.

"Chill out, man! You're going to hurt someone!" Soul pulls each of my arms behind my back, struggling to do so as I pull and flail.

The soul wavelength monitor is on the fritz. The brain wave and neurological monitors' alarms are going off.

"STEIN IF YOU DON'T END THIS I WILL END YOU! YOU HEAR ME!"

All he does is shake his head. "It takes one minute to get full readings. I'm sure you can withstand sixty more seconds."

He's _taunting_ me?

There's something so painful about having to watch the one you love suffer. The sight before my eyes not only brings me emotional distress and agony, but it's as if I'm sharing her physical pain as well.

It's torturous.

"_I'm not just yours to protect. You said you'd do anything to help me, didn't you? I can make my own decisions, and I'm doing this."_

And suddenly there are angry tears welling up in my eyes.

Father was right, Grim Reapers are overcome by emotion when they form a romantic bond. And here's the proof spilling out of my eyes.

I'll gladly give my right arm to make this stop. Throw the world off balance for all I care, just don't cause her any more pain.

Emily throws her head back into the head rest with a very audible _bang_.

"Please…just…just stop. I can't take it anymore."

The exposure was increased to sixty five percent. Five more percentage points and she might _die_.

It's crushing her soul. It's eating her soul. It's trying to replace my Emily.

Suddenly, the air vents are sucking all the smoke back up. The exposure monitor's percentage begins to drop steadily.

"There. Are you happy now?"

I'm anything but Stein. I'm anything but.

* * *

><p><strong>Emily (Concurrent with Kid)<strong>

So to say, I've apparently gone through the looking glass.

This is the stage I performed so many times on as a prime ballerina. This is where I played Sleeping Beauty. This is where I should have danced The Swan.

It's the stage I performed on, but it's not. There's something eerie and false.

I turn around.

What should be a scenic backdrop is instead a wall of about one hundred mirrors.

"Fucking hell, where am I supposed to be now?"

And I feel the sickening presence.

"**This is your unconscious. You know, the place where all of those thoughts and desires your conscious mind finds filthy and unpleasant go? This is where all of your true feelings live. It's also where I live."**

My doppelganger is sheathed in an all too familiar white tutu I wore several months ago in front of a sold out audience.

The night I wore that tutu, Cain gave me roses and kissed me with animalistic hunger.

"Sorry to say but Freud and the psychoanalytic theory has pretty much been proven invalid by scientific theory. Too bad."

But she continues to smile as she tip toes closer to me. **"This world isn't organized by scientific theory. This world is a form of chaos. Scientific theory doesn't apply to witch craft or the supernatural. Scientific theory isn't and never will be perfect, just like you."**

She dances and twirls around me. **"I'm right of course. You want to do everything right and please everyone around you like some righteous slut! But you can't even please yourself. Awww, so sad!"**

I turn to my right, spotting a cello lying on its side just off stage.

"**You see that? I'm saving that for someone! Three guesses who!"**

While I took up ballet to work on the skills I would need to successfully wield an axe weapon, Kenji took up something that would fine tune his soul wavelength abilities.

Soul wavelengths are often compared to music, and manipulating them is often compared with playing a musical instrument.

Kenji took up the cello.

"No. No, you leave Kenji alone. You leave him alone or I'll-"

"**You'll _what_? Kill me? Stupid girl, now that would be suicide! You can't kill me, because I'm you."**

The feeling of sick and rage builds strong in the pit of my stomach. It's burning poison running through my veins.

"You're not me. You're a fucking parasite and I _will _kill you like one." I'll kill you. I'll kill you just like how I'll kill Cain. All it takes it one blow of an axe to his neck and his head belongs to me.

You can't hide forever in my spine or in my head.

Her translucent, vein thick hand reaches out to take a hold of my upper arm. **"Foolish girl! You know that everything I say is true but yet you still deny, deny, deny. How about I show you some proof, and then we'll see who's the parasite."**

Her fingernails dig into my skin as she glides me over to the wall of mirrors.

Some are cracked. Some are modern. Some are antique. Some big and some small. But all of them reflect _me _in the surface.

She releases my arm and pirouettes to the opposite side of the stage. **"They say the only thing worse than lying to other people is lying to yourself. The sad truth is you're not fit to take up the role of Lady Lilith. You never were, even before you met Cain. You are and always will be her shadow. You and I both know it. You've always cared too much."**

The mirrors suddenly reflect a sea of one hundred Lady Liliths, waving to a crowd with a bouquet of flowers upon the completion of making her fourth consecutive Death Scythe.

I look so much like her.

Suddenly the mirrors change their reflection.

It's Kenji.

"**And don't pretend you don't realize how much fucking grief you've dragged your weapon through! Poor, poor Kenji, always the responsible one. Always your babysitter. You know he's sick and tired of having to take care of you. He can't even fuck his girlfriend without worrying whether you've ruined everything!" **And she's laughing that sick, childish laugh that stabs me through the ears. **"If he didn't share the same blood that runs through your veins he would've gotten a different meister a long time ago."**

Kenji is smiling like he always does. But it's so _fake_.

And now he looks disgusted.

I look out to the nonexistent audience, full of empty chairs collecting cobwebs and crawling with spiders. "No. Bullshit."

"**Well I'm sure you can't deny this next well known fact," **She smiles so wide that I can see her tongue flapping around in her mouth through the slits of her jaw. **"Let's talk about Thurston Palmer."**

"_You did this."_

"_Dammit Emily, how could you fucking do this to her! You should be in this bed! Not Lucy!"_

"_Get out."_

Animosity. A lingering grudge. A guilt trip. Thurston's reflection multiplies, flashing from that angry sneer to his goofy laughter.

"**He's never really going to forgive you. Remember, you two used to be quite close. Now just being near him makes you uncomfortable. All those things he said to you that day will haunt you past death because he sees who you really are. You're a failure and a disappointment." **She takes a few graceful leaps over, all familiar yet mysterious to me. **"However, thanks to you putting your best friend in a coma, you inadvertently played cupid for them! Isn't that cute?"**

I never danced with such effortless perfection.

"**Speaking of that, we have a lot to talk about Lucy, don't we?" **Thurston's images are immediately replaced by faces of Lucy, eyes wandering and lips smiling in curiosity.

Fear is dripping ice cold down my spine.

"**Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. Lucy _this_ and Lucy _that_. Smart, pretty, kind, and so skilled! It doesn't take a genius like her to know things would be so much better if you were more like her. After all, she perfected The Swan." **

"I fucking know she perfected The Swan! God you're like a fucking parrot!" She dodges away from a punch I throw, only to reappear behind me, hands curling around my shoulders and leaning into my ear.

"**Why can't you be more like Lucy? She's never had to put effort into _anything_. Perfection comes so naturally to her and she doesn't even care. You've been fed praise and expectations all your life. They're what kept you going, and now that they've stopped you're completely helpless! You think what the two of you have is a _friendship_? You're jealous. You use her to make yourself feel better, don't you? From the day you met she was just your ego boost."**

My blood feels stone cold in my veins. I feel like all of my guts are spilling out of my stomach.

"Stop. That's not true." I should shake her off of my shoulders. I should but I _can't move_.

The wall of Lucys turn to me, their faces angry and ready to tear me to shreds.

"**Lucy is everything you want. Shame she woke up before they pulled the plug."**

"Shut up!" And my elbows are jabbing back expecting to meet solid flesh but instead they continue to fly through phantom air. My doppelganger once again reappears in front of me, leaning casually up against the wall smirking.

"**I'll take that as the cue to change the subject. I think it's about time we talk about your little Grim Reaper boy toy."**

"No. No, Kid's off limits to you." My fingers comb through my hair and curl around the roots, tugging desperately. Is my brain melting?

"**Do you really think that letting him have you will allow you to _move on_? You think love is going to save you? You think Kid is going to cleanse you of all of your sins? He's no Jesus. He can't wash away Cain's touch. You've built up a feeling of love upon your own shitty false hopes. He still doesn't know the real you. The person he's in love with is f-a-k-e, _fake_. You're not the victim, but you do play the part well."**

"Stop it. Just stop." All of the Kid's are looking at me with hundreds of lust filled, possessive eyes that scare the living shit out of me. I feel trapped. I feel like a pinned butterfly. And I can't tear my sight away from their hypnotic gazes, they're strangling all of my desire to turn away and run like hell from my body.

My doppelganger leans in to peer at the closest mirror bearing Kid's face, idly tracing the contours of his face before nuzzling her cheek against the glass. **"You're so weak you have to rely on other people. And now you're relying on a Grim Reaper's touch and words to make you feel human. It's really senseless of you to make him so valuable to yourself. He'll make a great addition to Noah's book, that is, if they don't kill him first!"**

"Stop. Stop. Stop." I block my ears, but the words just filter through louder than ever.

It's so disgusting.

She pushes herself away from the mirror with an eerie giggle. **"But all of these feelings can go away just like that." **She snaps her finger.

"What the fuck do you want from me?" My voice is weak, quivering, and traumatized as it escapes my lips. This is me with nothing left. This is me reduced to a bag of flesh and bone.

"**It's too painful for you, right? Just let me have control and you'll have it so much easier."**

My is beginning to blur. "No, no way."

"**All you have to do is dance for the audience and _free yourself_." **

Why am I hearing applause? A loud, crashing wave of applause is drilling into my ears. I turn to look at the audience. It's filled with copies of myself, all smiling and clapping like they're watching an execution. Some are cheering and some are standing in ovation. None of them are here to see me win.

"**Give yourself over to desires. Stop faking everything and let yourself go. Dance," **She creeps up in front of my face, taking my jaw in her cold, corpse hands. **"Oh Emily, you're just a scared, sniveling, naïve girl."**

No.

No.

No.

"STOP!" And my hands are flying out and wrapping themselves around her neck, squeezing tight as I shove her into the wall of mirrors, glass shattering and blood spilling.

The applause fades away in a dull echo in my ears, replaced by the loud pounding of blood.

My thumbs press harder into the dip of her pale throat, so badly trying to squeeze all the putrid life out of her. I don't want to hear her voice ever again.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

But not matter how disgusting she appears, she looks exactly like me.

Is this what I'm going to look like dying? Smiling ear to ear and choking out giggles?

"**God it's so much fun when you resist!" **Suddenly, I'm on my back against shards of broken glass with her hands wrapped around my throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. **"Oh it hurts so good!" **Her dead eyes glimmer with the pleasure of watching the life drain from my face. In her dead eyes, I can see my own reflection, struggling for air and growing weaker.

Is this how it's all going to end for me? Strangled to death in my unconscious thoughts and replaced by an evil twin like in some Wes Craven movie? How hilariously tragic.

I'm afraid of my own shadow.

My fingers crawly limply along the floor of glass shards, my fingers cut and trailing blood.

"**ME! ME! ME! ME! ME! ME! ME!"**

My sight is beginning to blur away at the edges. My lungs are screaming for air.

It's not supposed to end this way. People will get up and leave and demand their fucking money back. They'll say I am about as good as a mental patient, helpless and afraid. They'll never know what would have happened if I had succeeded.

The fingers of my left hand run across a long piece of jagged glass, almost out of my reach, but just near enough for the tips to drag it closer and into my grip.

"**ME! ME! ME! ME! ME! M-"**

"No! Me!" I lodge the sharp blade of broken mirror into the side of her neck, her strangling grip immediately loosening as black blood drips onto her bare shoulders and down her chest.

And she howls in delightful pain, almost like an orgasm as she throws her head back.

I twist the glass towards myself, my own blood running a trail down my wrist from the slice it gives me in the palm. More black blood spurts from her neck and she's screaming louder in pleasure, her voice like a thousand dying children.

Yanking the shard out, I crawl back and away from my double, who's oozing blood onto the pure white fabric of the tutu. All that beautiful fabric, ruined.

"**God this was fun! Can't wait to do it again!" **She places her hand over the gaping hole in her neck, smearing the blood down and across her skin with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. **"Bye bye Emily."**

I glance briefly down at the shard of glass I'm still tightly gripping in my hand, smeared with black and red blood along the edges and splattered across its reflective surface.

The last thing I see before it all blurs away is the reflection of a tear of anguish escaping my eye.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

Oh my God, have I seriously not updated in two weeks?

No seriously, applying for college SUCKS. There needs to be a better way to fill out financial aid forms. Ever school piles on stuff and you're just drowning. Not to mention I'm trying to get ready for Anime Boston as well, and I have three more weeks to get all of my cosplays ready. Ugh.

And we're back to the action. And to the unpleasant stuff. Sorry. I had to rewrite three fourths of this before I was satisfied and I can confidently say this is my longest chapter yet.

If you guys have any questions about the story or want me to clarify anything, send me a message! I really love to hear feed back and critiques on how I can make this soap opera from hell Oscar worthy.

**Playlist:**

**Vessel by Zola Jesus**

**Jennifer's Body by Hole**

**Fourth Movement from Symphony No. 9 in D Minor, Op. 125 'Choral' (Excerpt) by Ludwig Van Beethoven (Composed by Shiro Sagisu for Evangelion Symphony)**

**Op. 20, Act II: 10. Scene Moderto by Tchaikovsky (From Swan Lake)**

**Night of Terror by Clint Mansell (From Black Swan)**

I'll try to update sooner next time, but of course, that all depends on whether or not senior year will finish draining the life out of me.

- Nicole


	14. Possess Your Heart

"_There are days when outside your window  
>I see my reflection as I slowly pass,<br>and I long for this mirrored perspective  
>when we'll be lovers, lovers at last.<em>

_You gotta spend some time, Love._  
><em>You gotta spend some time with me.<em>  
><em>And I know that you'll find, love<em>  
><em>I will possess your heart."<em>

**- Death Cab for Cutie, 'I Will Possess Your Heart'**

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

It fucking sucks to wake up cold, shameful, and alone in your own bed.

He's not here. I unconsciously expected him to be here, although I've only woken up to him at my side just once. But for some reason, I've rationalized that this time I should wake up to his arms around me and his inky black hair tickling my cheek.

However, there's a lingering scent that's so distinctly _him _wafting around my bedroom. So maybe he was here earlier. But that doesn't matter because he's not here _now._

Why am I acting like this? So needy and wanting like one of those child pageant stars. Gimme my false eye lashes. I want another stick of pageant crack.

"_**You're so weak you have to rely on other people."**_

When did I become so fucking soft? Where's my backbone? Did I leave it back in Boston, buried alongside all of my rationality?

God, I could use a fucking cigarette. Luckily, I keep an emergency pack hidden in a pair of Betsey Johnson socks in my bedside drawer.

As I reach over to the nightstand, my back aching and my head swimming, I notice wrappings of bandages around my wrists, dotted with specks of blood from wounds I don't remember receiving.

The last thing I can make out besides trying to fucking _murder _myself-What? No, that thing isn't me. Ugh, you get what I mean.- is bright light, the blurred edges of bodies standing over me yelling, and my own shallow breathing in my chest. There was no time limit in those moments. For all I know it felt like anywhere from five seconds to two hours. However long my momentary consciousness was, I blacked out after.

God, and everyone fucking saw the monster living inside of me.

All I can do it just stare at the blots of blood on my wrists as if they're some Rorschach tests. They look like butterflies. All fucking Rorschach tests look like squashed butterflies to me.

"If you're looking for that pack of Marlboro's I threw them out. You need better hiding places."

Kenji, who I've been nothing but a huge burden to since day one.

I yank my hand away from where it froze midair to pull back the drawer of my bedside table. "Hey I don't go rummaging through your collection of manga even though I known there's plenty of hentai in there," I'm not going to bother looking to the doorway of my bedroom to stare daggers at my cousin, instead I'll turn my gaze to the numbers of my digital clock. "Four o'clock, huh? Please tell me its still Thursday."

I hear Kenji's heavy footsteps come closer to me. "It's Friday afternoon. I convinced Professor Stein you'd much rather wake up in your own bed than in the infirmary." The edge of my bed dips and I see his royal purple hoodie out of the corner of my eye.

"So I've been conked out for over twenty four hours? How delightful." God I bet people who have been run over by semi-trucks feel better than I do right now. I could go for a good cracking of the back or even a punch to the face.

I sniff the air again. "Was Kid here earlier? I can smell that cologne he always wears." Drakaar, I think it's called. Ladies, slip off your panties. At least it doesn't smell like tobacco and self loathing.

I feel Kenji shift. "He left at around one in the morning. I told him I'd call when you woke up." He sounds overly cautious and I fucking hate it.

My spine is tingling. Maybe it's just the track of bruising I gave myself in that death chair. "So, what happened? I don't remember much past telling Lucy to remind me to give her back her copy of Sylvia Plath poetry."

I wonder how she's doing. God, if she put herself into another coma I'm going to throw myself out of the damn window. From what it looked like, she let herself be succumbed with madness. So much for the 'accept who you are and you can move on' crap she gave me, not that I ever took her literal word for it in the first place. I've seen plenty of people full of the insanity fever. They're like psychopaths who've been dropping acid. Then again, I've got the whole _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ thing going for me. God only knows what would happed if I gave myself over to that kind of madness. It's been hard enough fighting it off on a regular basis. Honestly, I don't know if I can handle it getting to that point again.

I don't have to look at Kenji to know the kind of face he's making right now. He has such a loud demeanor for such a well put together guy. "You were talking backwards within two minutes and then you started convulsing. I passed out after that so I don't know what happened after."

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK.

It was so disgusting to watch that he couldn't even stay _conscious_. My pride, it burns in the depths of hell.

My fingers are twitching. All I want to do is go back to sleep or just pass out again. If I do that I can subject myself to all the punishment my head can dish out. I feel weak. I should probably shower or eat first though.

Or at least get rid of the nagging feelings in the pit of my stomach.

"I'm sorry."

Kenji looks like hell to say the least. His dirty brown hair is sticking up on its ends like he's been unconsciously tugging fistfuls of it. There are dark half moons sagging under the rims of his glasses, so apparently he's been up for as long as I've been asleep.

He's looked better sitting up all night in front of the television playing videogames.

I feel about as awful as he looks.

"I've done nothing but drag you through all the shit I've put myself in and it's not fair that you have to put yourself in the position of cleaning up my messes. I pulled you down with me and it kills me. You never should have had to see any of that stuff back there," My eyes drop to look at my entangled fingers, twitching with nerves and pent up emotion. "Look at yourself Kenji. You've kept yourself awake worrying over me. This isn't how a partnership should work."

I'd feel so much better if I had the butt of a cigarette to roll between my index finger and thumb. I'm starting to get that nagging feeling of nicotine withdrawal buzzing along my guts.

"I was starting to get used to you shutting up about all your teen angst." Kenji shifts closer to me, leaning down to try to catch my eyes. No, I don't want to look at you.

"I'm a burden. Haven't you had enough of all my bullshit?" God I detest having to wallow in my own self pity if it weren't for the satisfaction I get knowing that I deserve to treat myself like crap. I'm such a masochist.

My nail polish is chipping off. I should probably repaint my nails before any more flakes off. That would drive Kid insane.

My eyes are starting to water up, blurring the edges of my vision into spots of bleeding colors.

"Jesus Christ Em, will you cut it out?" Kenji's arms wrap around me and he pulls me into his chest, just like he used to do when we were little. Even back then I was a handful. I'd get myself involved in other people's problems because of my inflated sense of righteousness. Kenji would have to pull me close to him before I started kicking sand in the other kid's faces for taking some poor little boy's Tonka Truck. I was always flush faced growing up, and that was why.

"You're like my little sister! I know what you're doing to yourself and it's a ton of bull. I'm _supposed _to worry. I'm the only person capable of putting yourself in your place. What, you think I'm sick of dealing with the things you do? Do you think I'd rather have a different meister? Is that it?"

Kenji Keechi everyone; hitting the nail on the head since forever.

A tear drop runs down and over the swell of my cheek before slipping beneath my jaw-line. Why am I working myself up over all those things _she _said?

Psychological trauma is one of worst killers of humanity's sense of themselves.

Kenji sighs, knowing full well my response to his questions. After all, he does know me better than anyone else in the world aside from your truly. "Em you put way too much stress on yourself, you know?"

I pull away from him, wiping my cheeks with the backs of my hands. "And you worry about me too much." My legs feel hot so I pull off my comforter. Oh wonderful, I'm wearing the same clothes.

"I hate seeing you like this not because 'I'm responsible for you' but because you're my family. It sucks that you have to deal with something so shitty." Kenji gets up and off the side of my bed, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his hoodie.

It's all so melodramatic.

As Winona Ryder said in _Heathers_, "Dear Diary, my bullshit teen angst has a body count."

"How's Lucy?"

Kenji shrugs. "She only passed out for twenty minutes from what Thurston told me. He seemed pretty freaked out by it though. They stopped by this morning with some flowers and Thurston finally paid me back that two hundred dollars he owed me. Lucy dropped off your school work about a half hour ago too."

"So you didn't go to school?" I hook a stray piece of hair behind my left ear.

"You'd have been pretty angry if you woke up alone."

Once again, Kenji being right about all sorts of things.

With as much care as I can manage, since I have no clue if I'm going to collapse face first on to the carpet, I slide off the bed, supporting my weight on the edge of the mattress with my arms. I feel sore all over and the numbness in my legs has almost completely faded away from its pinpricking, cramping sensation. Kenji moves to offer his hand to help me up, which I shoo him from as I manage to hobble up and stand.

"I'm gonna take a shower," I'm pretty good at hiding the limp in my steps as I make my way to the door. "Call Kid. I really should have a talk with him."

"Liz told me she'd never seen him more upset in his life. He was about ready to kill Professor Stein apparently." I pause for a moment and lean up against the doorway.

He wasn't here when I woke up.

"_**I can make my own decisions you know, and I'm doing this." **_

It still sounds ugly in memory.

As much as I want to take the harshness of it back, there's still truth to it. The possessive looks and the way it feels like he's trying undress me with his eyes. It's stifling to be under such a hunger. I'm not an object. But God, I knew he wasn't going to take it well from the moment Stein proposed his plan. I can see it now. That hunger over taking him and that usually well kept demeanor, turning him into a snarling beast or an emotional wreck. I should probably have him clarify which one it was.

My fingers tighten around the wooden threshold I've been clinging onto. "Again, I should really have a talk with him," I huff out a sigh, my shoulders relaxing from where I've kept them stiff up past my neck. "You should probably get some sleep by the way. I bet I don't look half as bad as you do right now."

Under normal circumstances I could laugh at my own snarky joke.

But my chest feels like it's recovering from caving in.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

It's all that has been on my mind all day.

It's like folding the toilet paper or angling the picture frames; that type of pestering sensation that overshadows any ability to focus upon anything else.

I rest my forehead up against the hardwood of the now familiar apartment door as I hurriedly beat my knuckles in a succession of demanding knocks. If I were on the other side of the door I'd think myself rude most likely.

I cannot help it though. My heart is a flurry in my chest and anxiety has its leathery grip about my neck.

Please, open up.

A shaky breathe escapes overtakes me exhale. I ran all the way here, only realizing midway through my sprinting that I should have taken Beelzebub. Now there's a sheen of sweat coating my forehead and wrapping itself beneath my collar. I must look quite disheveled and unbalanced, even after managing to smooth my hair out to a satisfactory appearance.

The familiar patter of footsteps draws closer on the other side of the door, followed quickly by the twist of a lock.

I stand back as the door pulls back.

Relief quakes in my body.

"Hey." Emily's voice is soft as her eyes trail down to the floor. Judging by the towel dry dampness of her hair and the blotches of red blooming against her skin, she must have just gotten out of the shower moments before.

Speaking of which, she's clad in nothing but a lavender bathrobe. This could be a mood killer.

My lips feel dry and the pit of my stomach warms with the now too familiar sensation of arousal. "Are you….are you naked under that?" I wish I could lie and say I did not lick my lips or produce a sparkling gleam in my eyes. I really wish I could lie.

With an over accentuated eye roll, she pulls back the robe-And oh hell all the despicable things that are racing through my head right now-to reveal a plain black tank top and heather grey shorts that hug the flesh of her upper thighs quite snuggly. _Very_ snugly.

She doesn't say anything. Rather, she lets out an exaggerated groan before closing her bathrobe back up, and thus ending my seconds of lustful day dreaming to both my relief and annoyance.

In reality, I don't want to spend too much time thinking. I want to refrain from letting my mind wander into yesterday's memories. They were all I thought of as I stroked Emily's cheeks and brushed my fingers through her hair as she lay in bed unconscious and unaware of soft touches. I was too emotionally exhausted to even contemplate allowing my tear ducts to employ themselves. I simply just sat, caressed, and stared mindlessly until Kenji advised I go home for the night.

"How are you feeling?" Once I again I have turned to asking idiotic inquiries.

She turns on the heel of her bare foot, urging me to follow her down the length of the apartment to her bedroom. "I could really go for a cigarette, but Kenji tossed the emergency pack I stashed in my bedside table," She truly does sound fatigued, even after sleeping for over the course of an entire day. "I sort of feel like I woke up from one of those emotionally draining, anxiety filled dreams I guess."

"Did you have any nightmares?" We round the corner down the narrow hallway and walk into her room, heading towards her bed to take a seat.

"I think I was too unconscious to do any dreaming, or at least remember anything." She settles herself by her stack of throw pillows, sitting cross legged and watching carefully as I sit myself down on the end of the bed.

I have never really taken notice of how different Emily looks without all the eyeliner and the stain of red painted on her lips. She looks younger; less hard edged, softer. Not that I prefer one over the other, but both are equally enticing in their own ways.

But without the makeup I can clearly see the sallow shade her skin has taken and the blueish-purple smudges signifying exhaustion under her eyes.

She's convulsing and pulling against the straps. Blood is smudged along her finger tips. I was the first person to run into the observation room, fully ignoring Stein's claims that it still wasn't absolutely safe to go in. I ripped away at the restraints, horrified to see the lines of blood seeping from her wrists and the bruising along her ankles. Her breathing was shallow as I cradled her to my chest, the raw wrath built up in my chest only held back by the desire to have her safe in my arms.

For a moment I could have sworn her eyes fluttered open.

And here she is now, awake and thankfully appearing to be alright. But for all I can estimate, she's a pile of emotional chaos on the inside.

"You weren't here when I woke up."

My lungs feel winded for a moment. Either it's the offset effect of running across town or the shameful guilt that has taken away my breath.

"I apologize. Kenji advised I should go home and sleep at around one in the morning," My eyes roam along the fold of her left leg unconsciously before I tear my heavy gaze away to look respectfully into her eyes. "I wanted to stay and be here when you woke up. I troubled you, didn't I?"

It's quite unusual for Emily to be so quiet. In the time it's taking her to nod in response, she could have spewed out a good three lines of sarcastic jabs.

It pains me to see her like this.

What happened in her head? What has her looking so distressed? If I ask I am positive she will turn away to wallow in silence.

And the conversation continues to drag like a funeral procession.

"Kenji told me you didn't react well. What did you do?"

I shift uncomfortably. "I suppose I became enraged so to say." Soul still has some bruising along his ribs from where I kept punching him in an effort for him to release me. Black Star's headlock still lingers around my neck with every creak a turn of my head receives. Speaking of which, I should probably make an appointment with a chiropractor in the next few days.

"_So to say_? Kenji told me you almost murdered Stein and turned into some insane, ravenous, mama grizzly." Ah, finally the flash of biting attitude I have been missing in the tone of voice and the narrowing of her eyes. Conversation with her just isn't the same without it. Good to see she didn't traumatize herself past the point of personality.

"Alright, so it took both Black Star and Soul to keep me from savagely attacking our Professor and putting an end to that whole hellish experiment," I really disdain having to abandon my normally serene and put together demeanor in favor of all these extreme emotions I have been on the edge with these days. "You should never have had to participate in such a reckless experiment, even _if _there was no other way to go about gaining more insight into the enemy! Don't undervalue your safety like that ever again!"

Yet again, my emotions have taken on a life of there own, no longer just provoked by the asymmetrical or the unbalanced. Of course, it is an expected side effect of the Grim Reaper mating habits to be overly enamored with emotion. It's a more sophisticated way of going into heat than grinding against the nearest leg in sight.

By the way Emily's narrowed eyes darken their gaze at me, I suppose it is safe to assume she isn't particularly fond of my emotional outburst.

However, and as I have indeed learned that the unpredictable does happen more often that one would guess, her hard focus softens on me with a heavy sigh. Well, this is quite new. I was fully prepared to engage in our first 'lover's quarrel' so to say.

"While we're on that tangent, I didn't tell Kenji to call you over here just so we could fondly bond over my teen angst or your desire to sue a certain mad scientist for malpractice. I actually have something to talk to you about," Emily begins rubbing at her temples, trying adamantly to ward off some oncoming stress headache. "And it has to do with those less than pleasant last words I left you with."

Oh.

"_**I'm not just yours to protect. You said you'd do anything to help me, didn't you? I can make my own decisions you know, and I'm doing this."**_

The fire of passion that has since been building up in my chest steadies at the turn of conversation. Those words have been nagging at me a considerable amount in the last twenty four hours. It's probably in my best interest for me to listen.

"I know my choice to put myself in that kind of position seemed like-you know what I'm not even going to bothering using some fancy shmancy word- bullshit to you, but maybe it was also a sort of retaliation to the weird way you've been acting for the past week along with my insatiable desire to punish myself?" She pulls her copper eyes away from their locked gaze, and I believe I see the faint hint of a blush developing in her cheeks. "I don't want to be anyone's responsibility, and that leads me to my point. You've been getting…possessive? No, I'm just going to put it in the clearest terms possible so I don't have to explain this any further," Oh hell, I've never seen her appear so flustered. "Kid, lately you've been looking at me like you're dying to drag me to the nearest supply closet and screw my brains out

Oh.

"We've only been a couple for about a week and it's not exactly thrilling to be looked at like a five course meal."

Wonderful. Great going Kid. You just couldn't completely hold back from slobbering with raging testosterone and swimming in your own libido.

I throw my face into the palms of my hands, too embarrassed to even just turn away. "I think I ought to have explained a thing or two about the sexual nature of Grim Reapers…"

I could bolt for the door. I could throw myself out the window. I could crawl into a fetal position. All of these are quite plausible responses to awkwardness of this all.

I told you the range of emotional responses to be found in Reapers in the midst of sexual awakening are quite bipolar.

From the sliver of space between my fingers, I make out the taken aback expression gracing Emily's soft features. And that faint hint of a blush has now evolved into a full burn of redness across her cheeks.

Sex talk with my father has proven awkward enough. Now this is just _frightening_.

Taking her silence as my cue to go off into an explanation, I huff a sigh and drag my hands off of my face. "Grim Reapers possess, well, we possess much more powerful sexual libidos than humans. In mating habits, we tend to become protective and lustful following first intimate contact with a prospective partner."

I could be flat lining on an operating table and the face she gives me could produce a final beep on the heart monitor due to its utter indifference. "Are you saying that little moment of fooling around Friday afternoon turned you into a sex craving weirdo?"

Does she have to put things into such harsh terms? "While those are not the terms I find the most sensitive to the topic, in a way, yes, you were the catalyst."

What I would give to go home and organize both Liz and Patti's closets into color and style coordination.

But I suddenly feel the bed dip as I notice Emily crawling her way towards me. Boldness has always been a forte of hers I suppose, that is, when she does not intend to play fair. "So even all that creepy stalking you did the first week we met was just your weird natural behavior of sexual attraction?"

I'm not in the mood to suffer from her wrath if I enlighten her that part of that behavior was on the behalf of my father's request I keep an eye out on her. "Along with my own piqued interest in you, yes."

A heavy moment of silence falls between us.

Human and Reaper relationships should never be this awkward.

"So, want to enlighten me on some more fun facts about the sexual natures of Grim Reapers?"

It suddenly appears that I have reverted to manually breathing. Hormones are raving and a certain area of my body is beginning to express interest in changing its angle.

I account my ability to hold back from acting upon physical desires in favor of hungry looks and spinning real time fantasies to my gentlemanly upbringing. Reaper nature is powerful, but the limits of what is considered socially acceptable in courtship are all the reason I need to painfully hold back on every need my body craves.

"Well…you see…"

Perhaps it is due to all the built up extremes of emotion I have attained over the last twenty four hours. Maybe the teasing hint in her voice is to blame. Then again, the dampness of her hair and the smell of sweet pea soap wafting off of her skin is enough to send my thoughts into over drive.

She's narrowing her eyes at me. Those beautiful, hypnotizing eyes like liquid copper I wish to be cast in and remain statuesque for an eternity. It is all simply too much to put into words for her to understand.

Her gaze faithfully follows as I slowly and cautiously place my hand over her thigh.

The exact instant the heel of my hand presses against her flesh she flinches from underneath like a static shock. "AH!-Christ Kid, you're burning up!" Emily barely suppresses the yelp that passes through her lips at the sensation of my hot touch stinging the soft skin of her thigh. Despite the look of complete and utter shock transcribed across her soft features, she is not making any move to push of pull away from the tremendous source of heat.

I give the flesh a soft squeeze-and oh the muffled squeak I hear that she will never own up to is the most pleasing thing to my ears-!-wishing to fuse myself with it. "They're called 'Heat Fevers'. After we initiated sexual contact-"

"Wah-you didn't even get off second base! Fuck, your hand is hot."

Stubborn as always my dearest, aren't you? "Fine. 'Sexual awakening' then. After a 'sexual awakening', Grim Reapers develop the strong urge to fulfill a sexual appetite with a mate. Symptoms include increased libido, mood swings, mood extremities, and-" I quickly move my other hand to clasp at her round, flushed cheek, her eyes going wide and feral at the sensation of such burning heat. "Significant increases in body temperature during increased arousal."

She winces, brows knitting together. But it isn't discontent or disapproval I see in her eyes. Rather, what I see is a challenge to my claims. "Usually human guys just settle for porn and they're good. Nice to know you require more 'hands on' approaches."

As my hands silently slide upwards to pull Emily's bathrobe past her shoulders, she leans forward to place her chin on my shoulder, pressing her cheek to my neck. Damn, she smells so delectable, like engorged fruit and blossoms at dusk.

"Is it bad that even though I don't like it when you're overly involved in my personal affairs that I want you to stay by my side?" The sudden solemn tone her voice has taken surprises me somewhat. Her body goes lax against me and I can distinctly feel the beating of her heart in her chest. "It's just one huge contradiction, isn't it?"

"No, I understand what you're tying to convey, and it isn't necessarily a bad thing," I whisper into her ear, nuzzling my face into her hair as my fingers drag across her bare shoulder blades. "You desire a relationship but you're afraid of becoming dependent."

"Bullshit, I'm not afraid. And do you have to pant in my ear?" I suddenly detect her left leg sliding past to hook around me. The fever within is spiking and with every second that passes it's harder and harder to retrain from natural impulses.

I gaze down past her back for a moment. What isn't blanketed by thick red hair is encased in clothing, too much for my taste at the moment, save for a band of tantalizing pale skin between the hem of her top and the waist band of her shorts. I see the indents of her lower back and the swell of waist, so tempting that I can't help but place a hand to that partially exposed area. "Prove it then."

No sooner do these words leave my mouth than I feel her lips crushing against mine with such purpose that it's almost as if she's trying to crawl into my mouth.

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

Adolescence is basically composed of one really exhausting internal battle between two opposing forces; unbridled angst and the need to get laid.

While any sensible person would make the point that I'm both in no state to be engaging in sexual activity and that it's all moving way too fast for anything to end well. But aren't our teenage years centered around the stupid and reckless decisions we make? Haven't I made enough mistakes to last me a lifetime?

I still can't say in full confidence that another mistake to be added to the pile I've so far collected won't make that big of a difference.

It doesn't really feel like a mistake when Kid slides my tanks top up and over my head, only pausing briefly to fold it neatly to the side. No matter how sexually charged he may be, I guarantee you, he'd in no way be able to get off if he saw a single sock lying crumpled on the floor. I bet he could be getting the best hand job in the world and he would have to pry the chick's mouth off of him to fold the sock and find its twin.

His mouth descends to suck on my collar bone while I feel his hands pull at my chest.

I catch an upside down glimpse at the right corner of my bedroom. All of my band posters and the FLCL poster Kenji gave me for my birthday have become a wall of voyeurs.

I always attract an audience, even the two dimensional kind.

"Emily?"

The spot along my collar bone Kid has busied himself with marking with tongue and teeth suddenly feels cold as his mouth departs. He fingers the under wire of my bra's right cup. Speaking of which, I really had to choose the one bra I own made out of material thin enough to show what I think of the cold draft in the room, didn't I?

"I want to…can I?...would you mind if?..." He pants between pauses, looking at me with such focus that I'm suddenly starting to feel like some kid's science project. Even though he can't complete his sentences, it's not because he's embarrassed or flustered. Sure, there's a little bit of that in there, but it probably has more to do with what's poking the inside of my right thigh.

I look at Kid. Then to my FLCL poster. Kid. Poster. Guy with a boner on top of me. Anime audience.

If I'm going to start making this a common activity between the two of us, I want it to go my way. Sorry buddy, knowing you you'll probably break a blood vessel trying to figure out how to unhook my bra and then I'll have to console you for twenty minutes and by that time I'll be too focused on getting something to eat than heavy petting. I still haven't eaten in over twenty four hours.

I lightly push Kid to get off as I shift to a sitting position. "We both know you'll only drive yourself insane trying to take it off of me." My finger tips feel cold as they brush over the skin of my back, and a shiver runs down my spine. One hook, two, three. See you later bra.

Whatever lingering sensation of self consciousness that was making me all tense in the muscles and bones completely goes away when Kid's expression goes from impatiently expectant to…

"They're…they're…_perfectly symmetrical_!"

Do you _think _I'm kidding?

I'd like to groan or shake my head but holy shit there are _hands on my boobs, there are hands on my __**fucking **__boobs_. Oh Christ he's _weighing _them in his hands and…fuck that felt nice and I really hope he wasn't paying attention to that noise I made.

Please don't misjudge me as either a silly little virgin or a giant stark raving slut.

Before this moment all I had was Cain, which I regret every minute of. In the best terms possible, he was selfish, and that probably had to do with who he really was instead of the 'rebel without a cause' I mistook him for.

It was always what he wanted and what made him happy. I was just another one of his hands; just another disposable human being like the prostitutes and the drug dealers and the homeless. There was never anything more to those touches, even though I tried so hard to convince myself what I wanted was there.

But right now, everything is _gentle_, _slow_, and _personal_. All I'm familiar with is rough, fast, and distant.

Kid's hands fall away briefly so that he can shuck off his blazer, his eyes hard focused on what I am positive are my nipples (Kind of like those gag shirts you get on boardwalks that say 'Tell Your Boobs to Stop Staring at My Eyes'). "Damn Emily, you're breathtaking," His tongue pokes out to swipe over his bottom lip and the fronts of his teeth, and I'd be lying if I didn't say that didn't prompt some kind of reaction out of me. "How I admire the symmetry of the human body!"

"I swear to God buddy, if you go into an eight minute rant about the rare wonder of breast symmetry I'll shove my bra so far down your throoooooooooooooaaa-_ahhhhhhhhhhh_."

Oops, sorry. What I meant to say was, 'I swear to God buddy, if you go into an eight minute rant about the rare wonder of breast symmetry I'll shove my bra so far down your throat you'll be shitting Victoria's Secret coupons until Black Friday' but Kid just had to dive forward and suckle my nipple into his mouth like nobody's business. A heads up would have been appreciated.

He chuckles lightly, since he can't speak very well considering how his mouth is pretty full at the moment, and my body vibrates from the hum on his lips.

All I can process doing at the moment is pulling myself closer to him and holding tight to the roots of his hair. I hope he gets a headache in the morning. God, his mouth is so hot.

"F-fuckkkk y-y-youuuu." Obviously, this doesn't come out sounded as threatening as I hoped it would. Instead it sounds like my voice box is being dragged away down a deep cave.

I feel teeth softly tug at my nipple and I can't think of a scientific explanation as to how in the hell anyone's tongue can be so hot. Kid really meant it when he mentioned that whole 'going into heat' business I guess.

That familiar sensation I felt in my core when I became the voyeur to my dream-self's deflowering is beginning to make itself known. Any thought of guilt that was about to float through my head at the memory dissipates as I feel Kid's thumb swipe over my other breast, mischievously stalling in one particular spot to mirror how he's using his tongue, lips, and teeth. Spoiled, smug, sly bastard who's got the wonderful gift of oral fixation oh bless you all that is good in the world.

Seconds drag like the teeth and the tip of his tongue. My hands tighten in his hair and I'm burying my face in his shoulder to muffle the noises escaping my mouth into his dress shirt. I bit down on the collar flap. It tastes like his cologne.

Kid finally pulls off, readjusts, and moves onto my other breast. As if he'd leave anything half finished. I don't know if that's a good thing because I'm starting to feel about ready to burst from the inside out.

He trails a finger lightly up the side of my stomach, and shit, I just _squeaked_. Smug asshole picks up on it so now he's just brushing up and down strokes with his fingernails.

My body feels so heavy and coiled tightly in the inside. The tension inside clenches deeper and deeper by the second and it's like being pulled up from a bottomless pit by a string. Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK. Teeth again. But it's so careful and cautious. There's no threat of the string he's holding me by snapping so that all I'm going to e left with is stinging disappointment and frustration.

It's coming so quickly and I can't stop it. I'm powerless against it. But somehow it's just so liberating even though it's so dependent on him. I'm bouncing against his leg but there's no way I've achieved so much ground already just pretending to be one of those humping Chihuahua gag gifts.

His touch is just burning against my flesh in the nicest way possible.

I'm invincible. Nothing can hurt me. I'm free falling but I'm not going to splatter dead all over the pavement. I'll land completely whole and alive, all my guts and teeth in my body where they belong and not scattered over a five hundred foot radius.

I can't believe it.

No way.

He knows what's happening, and I feel the corners of his mouth upturn in a grin as he sucks a little harder, not enough to hurt but enough to prove he knows _exactly _what he's doing.

That's all it takes.

My teeth clench around his collar, my tongue rutting against the fabric as a whimper of a scream vibrates in me throat. My hands clench and unclench as my body folds up to try to retain the feeling of burning ecstasy flowing in my veins. Cain never gave me this. I was always left to finish it for myself like some destitute hooker. That was all I was to him; something to be used and thrown away at his discretion.

But I can feel Kid's heart beating at the peak of the feeling that keeps me from panicking at the unexpected achievement of a climax I never attained with someone else's help.

He may be a God of Death, but all I can feel right now is life, pure and determined to shine.

My muscles begin to loosen as the sensation slips away to fade into completion.

My hands slip from his hair to drag limply down his back. A breath I didn't know I was holding escapes my lungs in a heavy sigh.

I'm exhausted but so satisfied at the same time.

"Oh, Emily. You did so good. You were wonderful, love." Kid's voice whispers softly in my ear as his hands, their touch no longer hot but lukewarm as per usual, slide up to my shoulders to pull me from the crook of his neck. I can't do it on my own at the moment; my bones melted away under the fever.

He's flush faced and hazy eyed, a cocky smile playing across his face reminding me of how utterly lost my composer is. No composer, no posture, but a pretty good orgasm.

Speaking of which…

"How…how did you do that?" I sound all winded as my breathing still has yet to synch up with my heart-rate.

I'm so tired I'm not even going to bother swatting his hand away from fixing my hair like I'm some little child. "Having a more aggressive sexual libido allows me to amplify your soul wavelengths and thus, your sexual energy. I've never done it before, but I guess I can safely assume I am rather naturally talented I suppose." Kid chuckles as he kisses my forehead.

Again, I'm too exhausted to deflate his ego.

_Wait a fucking second…_

"So what, you're saying you have _that _kind of ability?"

And again, he's laughing, but for the third time, I'm too tired to kick him off the bed.

"Well, of course we need to be engaging in intimacy, but yes, I do have that kind of power. I am able to manipulate and feed off of your sexual energy."

Oh wonderful, I'm dealing with the Orgasm Monster. _Special Attack: The Panty Soaker Weakness: "What do you mean you don't fold your underpants into EIGHTHS?"_

Kid pulls me closer to cradle my head against his chest, his arm slithering around my waist as he drags the both of us down onto the mattress. "I think it calls for a substantial amount of snuggling, doesn't it?"

I trace my forefinger along his jutting collar bone, my eyes drooping as I look into his eyes. "If I weren't so exhausted right now I'd make you regret being so fucking sappy."

Regrets. I've had enough to last a lifetime recently.

For once I'm not getting any second thoughts.

Maybe I should pick ballet back up? Maybe.

God I can't wait to serve Cain's head on a silver platter, and quite literally. I want to see Kenji's bladed edge slice clean through flesh, muscle, bone, and nerves. His blood will drip hot onto the floor as I hold his head before everyone like a Bible passage. His head will belong to me and me alone, and only then will my revenge be sweet.

My eyelids are falling closed. I hear Kid clear his throat. "So…was it good?"

I'm not too tired enough to punch him in the stomach though.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

How long has it been? A month? I'm just happy to say I didn't spend that month goofing off instead of writing this. Anime Boston was okay, things pretty much went about as wrong as they could have. My Howl's Moving Castle/Spirited Away skit for the Masquerade was an audience and staff favorite, but some bonehead decided to screw with this judging system so we got ZERO awards. Needless to say, we were upset. I also had issues with my dress and I broke my Howl's necklace (which is in the skit). It's up on YouTube if you guys want to see it. I was Sophie!

I'm also getting to the tail end of my senior year. AP Exams and scholarship applications are on my ass at the moment. I'll update as soon as I can. Probably next week since I'm on spring break then.

Again, I like to balance the bad with the good. I did leave you guys hanging on a pretty heavy chapter. Next chapter will serve kind of as one of those clip shows, where in I will go into more detail about scenes from Emily's past. Then it's time for Kid's birthday! But be prepared, shit is going to go DOWN.

**Playlist:**

**Piano Sonata #8 in C Minor, O.P. 13 "Pathetique" – First Movement by Ludwig van Beethoven**

**I Will Possess Your Heart by Death Cab for Cutie**

**I Wanna Be You Dog by Emilie Simon (Iggy Pop Cover)**

**Helena Beat by Foster the People**

**Heavy In Your Arms by Florence + the Machine**

Hope this wasn't too R-rated for you guys. I figured enough with the cock teasing. Happy reading perverts.

Love,

Nicole


	15. Towards the Blaze

"_And we're just like those condom wrappers  
>Used up, torn up.<br>Thrown away.  
>And we're just like yesterday's headlines:<br>Drifting, floating, towards the blaze__."_

**- The Blood Brothers, 'Crimes'**

* * *

><p><strong>Emily <strong>

Saturday

Has anyone ever received anything in a manila envelop that wasn't either top secret information or incredibly bad news?

No? Bummer.

_Emily Valentine and Kenji Keechi,_

_After analyzing the results of Thursday afternoon's fantum parasitus blood experiment, I can officially confirm my theories regarding its ability to produce a 'split personality' and its differing effects on Emily and Lucy as being resultant of the blood bond. I have attached a write up of my findings that I **strongly **recommend the both of you invest in knowing in and out, not only for the sake of taking down the enemy, but to avoid potential catastrophe as well. _

I finger the stapled stack of papers out from the pile in my hand. "Here, I really don't want to look at it right now." I slide it over to Kenji, sitting on the other side of the table. What's the use in all the time Stein wasted in typing up shit I already knew? Of course, I've always tried to avoid thinking of the possibility of my body's invader killing me, since ignoring it is the next best thing to the problem ceasing to exist.

_In the mean time, all members of Spartoi will be conducting research on new leads. Any information we can gather is crucial to the DWMA. _

_Also do not forget to hand in your essays on Ancient Demon Weapons on Monday._

_Signed,_

_Professor Frank Stein_

I could care less about an essay I've only gotten the outline done for that's due in less than forty eight hours.

Instead, I stiffen up at the mention of 'information'.

Kenji loudly flips a page of the experiment results, his eyes narrowed in scanning the miniscule font.

I know more about Cain Iscariot, Noah, and Gopher than probably anyone else. But at the same time, I know nothing. Everything I know is about as solid as air. The lies were endless to the point I still have no clue where one started and another ended. Sure, a truth or two may have been drowned in there somewhere, but the truths would be like a needle in a haystack, indiscernible and nearly impossible to pinpoint.

I place Stein's letter onto the table and take a hold of my Little Mermaid coffee mug. "I better get back to consulting the internet about martyrs and all that Christian crap for leads," I get up and push my chair neatly into the table. "And I'm not promising I won't be dicking around on Deathbook either."

I don't like when Kenji's quite. It's eerie and ominous. It means bad news.

He noisily turns another page. That's about as much of a confirmation that he hasn't died sitting at the table leaving a picked at Pop Tart behind that I'm going get.

* * *

><p>It was one of those pleasantly humid summer days; the kind that resulted in a comfortably chilly night when you could wear really tiny shorts and a windbreaker without looking like a complete dope.<p>

The night breeze by the harbor was always a few degrees colder than anywhere else in Boston. The wind carried the salty scent of the Atlantic, so strong that it burned in your nostrils if you weren't used to it. On foggy days the smell would be almost overwhelming, but I've always found the ocean air refreshing.

On that particular night I took the chill in the air as an opportunity to snuggle up closer to Cain, who always smelled like leather and the wax he used to tousle his hair into a fine mess. He never returned my attempt at cuddling, but would rather sling a heavy arm across my shoulders like a couch. Not that I minded being treated like an Ikea good at the time. That was just how Cain was. A tough, street hardened, rebel riding against the wind with a heart of gold.

Of course, it turned out I was more than completely wrong about the 'heart of gold'. Lack of a heart is more like it.

At that moment we were curled up on one of the docks; finally away from all the worrisome outbreaks of hysteria that had taken over the city since Asura had reawakened. Hospitals had begun to overflow with those infected with madness. You couldn't walk down the street without seeing some weirdo chanting about Armageddon and passing out pamphlets about how Asura would bring about the end of times, often wearing one of those really retarded looking signs in huge bloody letters. Every single newspaper littered on the sidewalks was about the threat of destruction and more or less what impending doom meant for the big Capitalist pigs on Wall Street.

Although my sense of justice was inflated to hazardous amounts, a couple of hours away from being a meister to be a teenage girl in love weren't out of the question.

It was this moment that introduced the connection of martyrdom to everything sinister underlining what Cain had tricked me into participating in.

"You ever hear about the Twenty Five Martyrs of the Demon Weapon Uprising?"

I looked away from trailing my gaze on the planes departing from Logan airport in the distance. "I know about the Demon Weapon Uprising, but I don't think I've ever heard about that incident."

There were a lot of atrocities committed against Demon Weapons before Death established the DWMA. Of course, while the majority believed that before the turn of the century Demon Weapons were considered fully accepted by society, there was still a strong underlying prejudice and fear prevalent against them. Humanity secretly feared Demon Weapons, and this fear was expressed through discrimination. Many sought to take advantage of the abilities Demon Weapons possessed due to this fear, seeing their raw power and inexperience as perfect factors to take advantage of for means such as war, as in the case of the Demon Weapon Uprising.

The Demon Weapon Uprising, which spread from Mexico to the south western United States, was one of the worst instances of Demon Weapon persecution in history. It was the nineteenth century and groups of humans born with the Demon Weapon mutation were being hunted down by the Spanish, who at the time still held Mexico under rule, to be used as weapons to fight the indigenous population. Their tactics were ruthless, considering how Demon Weapons were considered less than human and akin to witches by the Spanish in particular. Demon Weapons were forced to serve the Spanish armies and execute hundreds of Mexican natives. To the Spanish army, they were considered disposable, like real manmade weapons.

A resistance began to build amongst the Demon Weapon population to protect themselves from being forced to slaughter innocent people. This resistance resulted in an uprising against the Spanish army, which in turn became known as The Demon Weapon Uprising. About two thousand Demon Weapons were slaughtered for refusing to play as pawns to the Spanish. It was this incident that led many to reconsider the prejudices placed against Demon Weapons.

Lord Death soon after began to construct the idea of training Demon Weapons to be a part of the righteous fight against witches and Evil Humans. The Demon Weapon Uprising was responsible for revolutionizing public opinion on Demon Weapons around the world, and within the next thirty years being a Demon Weapon or being capable of wielding a Demon Weapon went from being considered dangerous to prestigious.

"Fuck Cherry, that's pretty disappointing," Cain always spoke with an edge of brutishness, never sounding formal whatsoever in conversation even with the top ranking officials we found ourselves frequently communicating with. But somehow that street kid dialect of his seemed to charm everyone around him, including myself. "All this insanity bullshit going around just gets me thinking.

So during the Demon Weapon Uprising an infantry in the Spanish army captured a resistance group of twenty five Weapons. As punishment for fighting back, each of the twenty five Weapons was led to a different location, from California to Guadalupe. They were each tortured in hopes they would give up and serve the army, but of course, none of them gave in. So after a week of being starved, beaten, and even sexually assaulted, each of the twenty five members was executed like a Christian martyr. Some were stoned, some burned alive, some crucified, and some even shot through their bodies with arrows until they croaked."

He took a sip from his can of Coke, staring intently ahead across the harbor's black surface. I was never sure what intentions or feelings laid behind his outward expression.

"Why are you thinking of that in particular?"

I saw the corner of his mouth turn upwards in a sneer. "We Weapons and technicians are always going to be lackeys to the general public. We were considered tools of the devil to a lot of people until that Uprising, and then all of a sudden we're the last hope for humanity. Makes you think what those Martyrs were fighting for. Did they want to become all fucking sweet and soft with their persecutors?"

I wanted to ignore the feeling in my gut telling me that there was something truly sinister behind his words. The cool ocean breeze that blew past at that exact moment didn't make much of a difference; my skin was already sprouting with goosebumps.

"What do you mean?"

And he chuckled under his breath. "Witches created us. Maybe we've been going against our nature for the past century. We're called _Demon_ Weapons babe."

That was the moment that I realized things were not what they appeared to be. There was something ugly beneath the surface that I had never noticed before.

At that moment everything I thought I knew about Cain Iscariot and my current life was put into serious question.

I didn't even bother scolding Cain for tossing his empty can of Coke into the harbor.

* * *

><p><span>Sunday<span>

While I was unpacking all of my belongs from their boxes when Kenji and I first moved into the apartment, I didn't expect to find something I thought I had tossed in the dumpster neatly resting at the bottom of a box labeled 'Emily's Shit'.

My ballet slippers.

Realizing that Kenji must have snagged them from the garbage and packed them into the box, I shoved them to the back of my closet. Obviously throwing them out did no good if they just made their way back to me.

I still really don't feel like dancing. Its part of a past I've associated with negativity and falsehood. People would toss bouquets of flowers at me and talk about how passionately I danced; things I didn't realize meant nothing to me if I didn't possess grace until now.

It feels like being an amputee trying to re-engage in all the 'two legs required' activities he used to enjoy before his little 'accident'..

DWMA has a pretty beautiful dancing studio I guess: wall to wall full length mirrors with oak railings, nice acoustics, and the floor is perfectly furnished for dancing on.

I gave myself an extra ten minutes of warm up time due to not dancing since the summer. My joints cracked and creaked from the stiffness they had adapted into, particularly my ankles and feet. Funny, I can't stand the sound of other people cracking their joints, but my own? It's almost comforting in a way if that makes sense, like a crutch.

I suppose I look like a dancer. I don't do pink though. Redheads are _terrible _in pink; we end up looking like some poor colorblind lady dressed us. It's about the worst color combination next to mustard yellow and booger green, a.k.a. every house furnished in the seventies.

Shades of grey always looked better on me when I danced. Grey leggings. Grey leg warmers. Grey tank top. Grey tutu I thought I pitched with the ballet slippers that I obviously didn't. Someone could say I'm the fucking cutest little block of slate they ever saw.

Now my thumb is hovering over the select button on my mp3 player, daring to press down and filter the song through the boombox speakers.

I ended up scrolling to the last song I want to hear or dance to in the world. But I _have _to do it.

It's 'The Swan' by Camille Saint-Saens, also known as 'The Dying Swan', from 'The Carnival of the Animals'.

It's a dance that has caused me so much grief and frustration that just reading the title makes me somewhat sick in the stomach.

The instructor said I had all the moves down but that I lacked the grace and the image invoked by a dying swan. My version didn't look effortless.

So he gave the dance to Lucy.

And I kept trying to perfect it. But each time I reached the last leg of the dance, things fell apart. I was always too stiff, too alive, too forced. I was supposed to be dying with elegance. Instead I looked like a god damn duck some hillbilly shot down from the sky.

I know it's not going to look any better now than it did months ago. However, it's the sadistic side within me that wants to see me fail so I can prove to myself that I just can't dance anymore.

"This is so fucked up." I hit the select button.

The two second delay allows me to get into first position.

As the piano cues me in, I rise, tiptoeing towards my reflection in the opposite mirror, my arms outspread in an imitation of wings.

Steady, tip toe, tip toe, reach for the sky, and turn.

"_Loosen up Emily darling! Death is beauty! Beauty is fluid!"_

My arms are wings, sprouting with feathers with every careful movement of muscle.

Back up, back up, back up, and turn.

I can feel the eyes of my ballet instructor watching me, the nib of his pen pressed to his lip, wearing that unreadable expression that neither conveys fascination nor dislike.

This dance is all legs and arms and subtle, resonant movement.

"_Attack it! Grace Emily! You're dying! This is your final moment! Serene and peaceful, but tragic! Emotion!"_

I eye my reflection.

_"**Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. Lucy ****this**** and Lucy ****that****. Smart, pretty, kind, and so skilled! It doesn't take a genius like her to know things would be so much better if you were more like her. After all, she perfected The Swan."**_

Twirl, twirl, twirl, release, and step.

Now start dying.

Fall to the floor, arms bent and twisted, fuck I know this sucks already. My reflection is all rehearsed and fake; nothing lithe and emotional.

Don't mess up, don't mess up, don't mess up.

And up, and curve.

Now more desperation, more heartbreak, more passion.

"_Give me fear! Give me love! Give me form! Be a swan Emily! Give me a beautiful, graceful death!"_

Now fall apart. Goodbye everyone.

Life should be slipping from my body.

Death is unexpected. You don't know what to do as you approach the brink of death. The swan doesn't know what death will bring, but she's ready to accept it.

My reflection knows what death is and doesn't want any of it.

Down, down, fold, twist, life is draining from every pore.

And die.

The song ends.

I heave a sigh into my shoulder before I make the move to sit up.

I'm not expecting to hear someone _clapping_. But by God, someone is actually applauding me; slapping their hands together in approval because they're _impressed_.

Not that I was expecting anyone different to be standing in the doorway, but is it just me or does he really get off on showing up unannounced?

"Spectacular! Exquisite, If I may say so myself." Kid ends his round of applause as he stalks forward.

"Oh please, you of all people shouldn't be lying about it being anywhere near 'sensational'," I pull my leg out from its awkward fold under my hips, looking down to fix the tulle of my tutu. "If you want to know that dance is one of the reasons I quit."

I glance back up and I make a quick note that Kid moves pretty quietly, since he's now pretty much standing on top of me. Not to say he doesn't look, well, _handsome_, at any angle, but when you're looking at him from the floor it's like looking up at a national monument.

"I'll admit, there were some moments where your sense of symmetry was off balance, but overall you appear very well rehearsed." He shoves his hands into his pockets; that little nervous habit of his that's honestly started to grow on me.

"That's the problem. I'm not supposed to look 'rehearsed'. It's supposed to look effortless. I'm supposed to be a swan, not a ballerina imitating a swan." My hands clench the tulle of my skirt, so tight that I can feel the edges of my fingernails digging into my palms through the fabric.

Without much hesitation (God how giving me an orgasm gave him some balls), Kid kneels down at my side, placing a tender hand on my shoulder. "Sorry to say but my aesthetic of perfection considers balance and hitting every cue on point, not _how _it is achieved," His other hand snakes over one of my clenched fists, his fingers threading between my knuckles. "Would it be too much to ask if I request to see another dance?"

My hand unclenches from my skirt to let his fingers thread past my knuckles.

'The Dance of the Cygnets' always put me in a better moon anyways.

* * *

><p>When I was small, tiny and cozy under my Ariel bedsheets, my mother would sit at my bedside and tell me stories until I fell asleep. I'd like to think I was an easy sleeper. It wasn't that I needed my mother to tell me a bed time story in order for me to shut up and pass out into a dream. It was something she wanted to do and something I enjoyed hearing.<p>

Most of the stories she told me were about a woman named Lilith who was a very skilled Demon Weapon meister. This woman was my great-great grandmother, and it was said that her first female heir to attain the abilities capable of a meister would go on to achieve fantastic things. While at three I already had a pretty solid understanding of Demon Weapons and meisters, since I had managed to wield Kenji around in the sandbox at the park after some kid knocked over our sandcastle (the brat pissed his pants), I was too naive to make the connection that the female heir my mother was talking about was _me_.

My parents always talked about Lord Death when I was growing up. Usually it was in relation with his being a benefactor to SIN, but other times it was about the Christmas cards he sent or the little trinkets I got from him on my birthday. I was told I had met him when I was an infant, as if a baby is capable of actually _meeting _people. There was a picture to support this supposed 'meeting' with the man I was pretty much taught to regard as a Godfather of some sorts, and it always stood in the dining room. I was almost a year old at the time, and it was Lord Death's son's first birthday. There's my mother and father holding me standing next to Lord Death, who's cradling his own son in his arms. I don't know who's idea it was to put fucking party hats on the heads of two infants, but my mother always cooed about how cute they looked.

So I guess you could say I've known Death the Kid since infancy. That's a real stretch of elastic though.

By seven I began the traditional means of training for a meister, like taijutsu, meditation, and wielding broomsticks (Because my parents didn't trust me with Kenji's sharp blade quite yet since I was a jittery child). Of course, in addition to formal training, I was enrolled in ballet to help build form to my moves in relation to my soul wavelengths. I soon became well known not only as Lady Lilith's successor, but as a prodigy in the professional world of ballet. I grew up being praised and spoiled with accolades. Not that I was ever bratty about it or ungracious. I knew what it meant to people and I held a firm grasp of how important it was not to let people down. At the same time, it was just natural for me to enjoy what I was doing, and so I had fun being who I was. More often than not, this exuberance has led Kenji to act as my 'leash'. No pun intended, but I tended to lean toward _axe crazy_ when fighting. I fought the people who were depending on me to do what was just and right. And so I thought I was immune to the evil I constantly clashed against.

"That'll be the day."

"You really think it would happen to me of all people? Have you been eating paint chips or something?"

"It couldn't happen to me. Never me."

It was love and bravado that allowed evil to snake into my soul.

When I woke up from that lead heavy slumber, the back of my neck itchy from where Cain's soul wavelength bullet had slugged me into unconsciousness, one thought crossed my mind in the darkness of the room.

'_You fucking idiot.'_

And the handcuffs locking my wrists in place to the armrests were too tight. They might as well have been around my neck because it was a stifling feeling that overcame me when the metal dug uncomfortably into my skin. The ropes that held my ankles tight against the legs of the chair were cutting off my circulation, sending a sensation of pins and needles from my toes to my knees.

My voice quaked around the name "Lucy". She responded still drowsy from her own unconsciousness saying, _"It appears we may have miscalculated some details."_

And then the lights turned on and I realized Cain had the barrel of his sniper rifle arm an inch from my temple.

Lucy's face remained stoic as Gopher cocked the head of his arrow closer to where her jugular vein was in her neck.

And Noah stood in the center of the room, the ringmaster of the circus and the conductor of all the chaos, with The Book of Eibon pressed flat to his chest.

And I thought of how useful one of those Drink Me potions from 'Alice in Wonderland' would be at that moment.

"_You lied Cain, you lied about everything. All of those missing people we were blaming on the mobs and all of those robbed souls we recovered. Everything was a lie. You and I were just one huge nothing too, weren't we? Why Cain? Why did you do it?"_

Cain pressed the rifle snug to my head, coasted his lips down my neck and laid a kiss to my shoulder. _"Because unlike some people I have nothing to lose."_

There was this sense of familiarity in his eyes that I couldn't pin point on anything. What he said still bugs me in relation to that expression he shot at me, like I knew the reason all along. Maybe that's the reason why his betrayal haunts me like it does.

This was one of the thoughts that tortured me when I locked myself in my bathroom. That sickly juvenile voice whispering all of those ugly things kept getting louder and louder and louder.

"_Who are you! What do you want from me!"_

"_**You know who I am and what my intentions are, foolish child. I exist within you and within Cain's new God of Madness. I am everything you know about yourself and everything you have chosen to ignore and suppress. I hail from lies, deceit, selfishness, and wrath. I am the absolute truth that has been overshadowed by falsehood. **_

"_**I am you."**_

It was my tarnished, guilty blood.

So I scratched and clawed at my arms to try to find the blackness I realized was within me. Red, red everywhere but not a single drop of black.

And my corrupted reflection, with its dead eyes and oozing Glasgow grin, kept on laughing in the mirror even after I shattered the glass into bits and pieces on the floor in and in my fingers.

From there I was kept under the observation of doctors and surrounded by the company of those who wanted more than anything else to die. A week was how long it took me to establish that I was, in fact, on my own.

I had to rebuild myself from the ground up as a reformation of my former self. There was no way for me to be someone else, and so I created of a model of what I should have been from the start: stoic, rational, and blameworthy.

These are my crimes. I've plead my guilt and it's up to me and me alone to atone for all the wrongs I've committed through deceit.

To atone means to correct and set things back into their rightful places. While I thought it meant leading myself down a funeral parade for a heroic sacrifice, maybe I've been wrong this whole time.

Being me right now sucks and I wouldn't recommend it to anyone.

However, beating a horse that's been dead for so long that there are nothing but cleanly picked bones to abuse achieves nothing. And so I'll try to find my way out through the people who are helping me pull my own body weight these days.

But deep down in my heart I don't know how I can't forgive myself unless it's through blood. I need to keep surviving so I destroy that evil that broke my heart in two and maybe then I can find it in myself to resurrect who I used to be.

This may look like an epiphany. It's not. This is all I know and none of it is complete until heads are rolling.

I won't take any of it lying down.

* * *

><p><strong>Kenji<strong>

Monday

Thurston kicks back in his chair, throwing his feet up onto the table with a thud that causes a stack of student records to wobble dangerously. "Argh! I can't take it anymore! This is getting us nowhere! I've got a headache from reading all this tiny text and if I don't get my hands on some food soon unspeakable things will happen."

Emily, who is sitting on the opposite side of the table thumbing through a folder of papers, looks up with the familiar expression that lets on she has finally run out of patience. "For God's sake, will you pipe down? We're in a library! If you're going to bitch and moan then go read comic books with Black Star. At least he's pretending to be useful."

"Hey wait a minute! I am TOO helping you guys sort through all this crap of information!"

Kid places the copy of transcripts on known renegade groups against DWMA he has been carefully reading for the past hour down onto the table. "I find it hard to search for information when the book I'm busying myself with is upside down."

He's right. Black Star _is _holding that book on The Book of Eibon upside down. "Wha-Shut up Kid, no it's not!" As he attempts to correct the positioning of the book an issue of _Manga Monthly_ slides out from the pages and onto his lap.

"Oh my God, that's just pathetic," Liz groans from my side, slapping the palm of her hand to her forehead in second hand embarrassment. "I feel like I'm babysitting but I'm not getting paid."

Honestly, if it weren't for me being here, Liz would have quit a long time ago to go off and paint her nails or something like that.

"Dude, that's so uncool. If you're going to goof off while the rest of us are slaving our asses off at least be reading an issue of _Playboy_ or-OUCH!-DAMMIT MAKA YOU'RE GOING TO GIVE ME A CONCUSSION ONE DAY, CUT IT OUT!"

"You're unbelievable Soul and I hope you know that."

"Oh man, is that the December issue of _Manga Monthly_? Lemme see!" There are two things in the world that will get Thurston Palmer to completely drop whatever issues he is having and move on: Half of burrito specials at Chipotle and new issues of _Manga Monthly_. I don't mean to gather up all sorts of useless information about people, but it comes with all the people watching I did as a kid. Most of that people watching though was making sure Emily wasn't going to attempt jumping off the swing from ten feet in the air when we were little.

Thurston throws himself away from the table we've all been sitting at, once again causing all the stacks of files to sway dangerously close to collapsing.

"No way man! Get you own copy!"

"Dude, you've been reading that for the last hour! You're done reading!" Thurston grabs a hold of one end of the magazine Black Star is clinging for dear life to, beginning a process of tug of war.

I wish I didn't know either of them right now because our entire collective study group are receiving some pretty ugly stares from other students.

"Black Star quit it! This is a library!" I feel pretty bad for Tsubaki. She must have to put up with being mortified over her partner's actions on a daily basis.

"That's it. I can't take this anymore." Emily sinks lower and lower in her seat, a move she's affectionately described as, "Drowning in quicksand made of bullshit".

Lucy, well, Lucy can study through just about any weird things going on around her. Once an entire food fight broke out in cafeteria at SIN and she didn't even notice, her face was so buried in that biography of Edgar Allan Poe. Right now is no different. If anyone is able to get any amount of work done today it'll probably be her, since Maka looks pretty ready to blow a fuse.

"Let go!"

"Get your dirty mitts off my magazine!"

"Come on dude! Don't be a selfish dick!"

"Don't make me use my godly strength on you!"

"Woo! Woo! Ahahahaha!"

"Patti don't egg them on!"

"Fight! Fight! A dummy and a white!"

"Soul I'm grabbing a bigger dictionary now!"

Now, every sense of the laws in physics applies to the situation. At the moment, we have two opposing forces pulling at an object that is made out of flimsy material and really isn't made to withstand being pulled at by two idiots. If Black Star wasn't on probation for destroying half the school last week he easily could have thrown Thurston into the nearest shelf of encyclopedias. So now the forces pulling at the issue of _Manga Monthly _can probably be considered about equal.

So the sounds of paper tearing and Thurston crashing ass first into our table with half a magazine whacking him in the face doesn't surprise me in the least.

"TIMBER!"

I'm thrown on my own ass by the impact and now it's raining manila folders all over the place. I give the librarian five minutes to kick us out.

"Ah! Look at this disaster! I arranged every file chronologically and in alphabetical order you imbeciles! ARGH!"

"Kid, don't puke blood, don't puke blood, don't puke blood."

"I can't _fucking_ believe you two! You guys are the dumbest, most dense, idiots I have ever had the-_Oh my God._"

The sudden change of tone in Emily's voice has me on my feet and at her side, sprawled out on the floor, before I can even get a good look at what probably appears to be the beaches of Normandy but covered in paper.

She's wide eyed and gaping as she looks down on the paper clipped sheets of paper between her hands. I can't even tell if she's breathing.

"Em? Em, what is it?" I take a hold of her shoulder, which is stiff under my hand. I move over slightly to get a better view of whatever is on that paper that has her suddenly looking like she's seen a ghost.

What I see is about as shocking as seeing some headless translucent figure moaning down a hallway.

**Abel ****Sicarius (Enrolling class of 1997)**

** DOB: June 21st, 1984**

** Height: 5'5**

** Eyes: Gray**

** Hair: Dark brown**

** Classification: Weapon – Sniper rifle**

** Partner: Simon Zimmer**

** EXPELLED 11/28/99**

"K-Kenji…" Emily's finger brush the photograph held in place by the paperclip.

I know what she's trying to tell me.

We _know _that face.

I nod down to the bottom of the page. Stamped out in big, red ink, is, '**KILLED AS A DARK WEAPON DEC.** **21 2005**'.

Emily is shaking. "'Because unlike some people, I have nothing to lose'," She whispers so softly I have to lean down closer to fully comprehend what she says. "Kenji…You remember what he said when we fought him, right?"

"_This is all I have left, don't you get it? I'll lose everything!"_

He didn't put up much of a fight when Emily and I raided that building. We were told that the mob was dealing robbed souls to people who were selling them to evil humans and dark weapons for a profit. We caught them in the middle of a deal.

He was much skinnier and his eyes had that look in them that told he's been consuming human souls on the side of dealing. I never took the time to consider that this guy was once just like me. Not when he ranted and raved about how he couldn't help himself and how he had no choice. Not when Emily swung me through his neck as the final blow. Not when I chewed his soul up in my mouth.

Emily can see it too; the resemblance in the eyes on the photograph to Cain's.

As cousins, Emily and I do share one physical resemblance to each other; our high up cheek bones.

The resemblance between those eyes and Cain's only comes with being related by blood.

"I know what Cain meant now…H-he mentioned once that his brother died a few years ago…But he never said how other than that he died a good guy," I hear Kid settle over on Emily's other side, saying her name over and over again between asking what's wrong. "We killed Cain's brother Kenji."

* * *

><p><strong>Arizona<strong>

Tuesday

Cain Iscariot took a brief glance at the picture thumb-tacked to the cork board before closing and the door and turning the key in its lock. Not that there was any chance of any of their experiments escaping out of the steel locked cages they were each held in. However, after Valentine and Wallace had managed to pick the locks of their restraints, none of them wanted to take any chances.

The photograph was a daily reminder of what he was martyring himself for.

His mother and father ran off to join some neo-Christian crazy people cult when he was five. They weren't very good at being parents anyways if the way they treated him and his brother was any proof. His mother didn't understand why she kept giving birth to Demon Weapons. She thought her womb was hexed by witches (Hah!) and his father sought answers in religion.

It wasn't like life changed much after Cain and Abel were abandoned by their parents. Their parents never gave two shits about them if it wasn't about how they were the spawn of Satan. The only thing that really changed was that they didn't have a tension filled home to live in.

Abel took it upon himself to raise his little brother. They hitchhiked all the way to Death City so Abel could enroll at the DWMA, hoping to give his brother a better life.

But all the stress of trying to save the world from enemies of Lord Death and trying to give Cain a fighting chance in the world become too much. Something had to give. Save the world or save his kin? And so Abel turned to other means to support himself and his brother.

Things were going great for while. Things were perfect until DWMA staff discovered Abel was dealing drugs on the side of his duties. Those bastards didn't even give him a chance to explain why he did it. Abel was expelled and he and Cain were abandoned once more in a world that held no fairness for those who needed it.

With nothing but a couple of hundred dollars from dealing and a couple of suitcases, Abel and Cain went east to New Jersey.

But drug dealing wasn't cutting it anymore. The money was good but it wasn't good enough to make things work for the two brothers.

Dealing human souls brought in better income. That was where all the money was these days.

It was a dangerous society to involve himself in of course, but Abel would do anything for his brother, even if it meant putting himself in harm's way.

The mafias Abel dealt for treated him and Cain nicely. They were able to live nicely and the mob bosses trained Cain, who was an autonomous weapon and thus received the most hatred from their parents growing up, to control his abilities. All the connections that came with working for the mafia were useful. Cain learned the Scientifics of witchcraft with ease under their teachings. He wasn't playing with some dinky chemistry set by ten either. He was mixing potions and substances that could kill a football stadium population. So Cain wasn't just a freeloader according to the mob, he was just as useful as his older brother.

Along the way though, the pressure became too much for Abel to deal with. The mafia recommended Abel start using the substance he dealt.

By the time Abel was twenty, he was eating human souls on a regular basis. But he was still there for Cain, even when the look in his eyes changed and his bones started to become more pronounced under his skin, Abel held his little brother above everything else.

Abel had everything to lose when a crack down on east coast mafias was initiated by the DWMA's branch school in Boston, SIN Tech.

The boss himself went to Abel's apartment to tell Cain the news that cold December night. Cain had just gotten back from buying his brother's Christmas present: a motorcycle.

Abel was twenty one when he died.

A redheaded bitch with an axe from SIN took his soul.

The mafia was very helpful in tracking down his brother's killer. Emily Valentine, a girl born with a silver spoon in her mouth who was entitled to everything the world had to offer because of her great great Grandmother. Cain hated people like that. They never had to work for anything in their life. They were scum.

If Cain didn't hate Lord Death and everything his empire stood for, he absolutely loathed it then. He would have revenge on the DWMA and that filthy redhead if it meant giving up his dying breath. He would martyr himself for what was truly right and just.

This hatred he built a throne out of was what led him to Noah and Gopher. And then Cain knew the way his life was going to unfold. He would have his revenge and create a world that wouldn't crucify the helpless and the needy. All the freeloaders would be thrown into exile. Lord Death's empire would come crashing down and madness would rein. The world would be truth.

The photograph thumb-tacked to the corkboard in Cain's makeshift laboratory was taken ten years ago. Abel had just started school at the DWMA and life was wonderful so he took Cain out for ice cream that particular day.

Their waitress took that picture with Abel's Polaroid camera. She thought the two brothers were cute. Abel had his little brother on his lap. Moments before he gave Cain the rest of his Moosetracks flavored ice cream.

Cain has nothing left to lose anymore.

He pulled the key out of the lock, tucked it into his pocket, and departed to select a suitable outfit for Death the Kid's birthday party from the stockpile of clothes that had accumulated from all the scam artists they fed to their developing kishin.

Gopher mentioned that it was going to be the party of the year, if not the decade.

Cain wasn't going to let lack of an invitation stop him from making a guest appearance.

Besides, he loved parties.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

This will be known as the chapter of revelations. Where the story's title comes from, why Cain did what he did (AND HE'S A BASTARD THROUGH AND THROUGH), what's on Kenji's mind when stupid things are going on, the significance of 'The Swan', Emily's life, and who is going to be crashing Kid's sweet sixteen.

So yeah you guys have a lot of information to sort through and a lot of things have been clarified now. This is like an HBO series but without any Emmys.

The next two chapters will be IMPORTANT. Drama! Sex! Fabulous dresses! All to come!

**Playlist:**

**Crimes by The Blood Brothers**

**I Know Places by Lykke Li**

**The Swan by Camille Saint-Saens**

**House Sparrow by Xiu Xiu**

**Rising by Son Lux**

Review guys! It takes two seconds and it lets me know you guys don't hate my guts!

I'll try to update soon!

Nicole


	16. An Unhappy Birthday

"_One last thing before I shuffle off the planet_

_I will be the one to make you crawl_

_So I came down to wish you an unhappy birthday_

_Someone call the ambulance_

_There's gonna be an accident."_

**Placebo, _Infra-Red_**

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

Thursday – October 29th - 10:39 PM

When you take the time to think about it, antiques are all just dead people's shit that gets passed down the line depending on who bites the dust first.

"_Lady Lilith trusted me with specific instructions that you receive this when she would expect you to need it the most."_

I lean my cheek onto my forearm as I pick the diadem out of the box for about the eighth time today, fingering at the golden leafs and black gem stones..

When Lord Death placed the eight by six oak lidded box in my hands, I realized what I was receiving: Dead people's shit.

"_This is the diadem she received upon being honored as my top ranking meister! She wanted you to have it and I'm sure you'll find it useful for Kiddo's birthday ball tomorrow!"_

Lifting the cover I instantly recognized the hand crafted, Grecian wreath diadem from the painting of Lady Lilith that once hung in the main hall at SIN. It was such a nice painting too. She sat regally, fair and proud with her mass of red hair piled atop her head encased in the golden wreath. All of eighteen years old and posing like royalty. I raved to everyone I knew about how pretty my "Grammy" was and how much I wanted to be like her when I grew up.

I feel like I've disturbed the dead holding this thing.

I weigh the diadem between my hands, feeling the antiquity with every brush of my fingertips. This is as close as I'm ever going to get to wielding that kind of power. The magic will only last until about midnight tomorrow and then the lease on this thing is up. The carriage is an overgrown pumpkin again and I return to being the human wreckage we all know and love.

I mean this all sarcastically of course, if you haven't noticed. I stopped thinking in such a one dimensional, fairy tale kind of way once I figured out that Santa was a worldwide conspiracy amongst parents and shopping malls.

At least, I thought I had given up thinking in such a brainwashed manner.

No, meisters and weapon have been conditioned to think a certain way to ensure that what needs to be done _is_ done.

Evil humans and dark weapons aren't people. Once they make the choice to pig out on human souls they leave behind their humanity. Not only are we doing the world a service by eliminating them from existence, but it's the "humane" thing to do. They're like rabid dogs; it's in everyone's best interest to put them down. If we think about the beings we kill as anything resembling ourselves, then wouldn't we have a hard time ripping their blackened souls out of their chests?

Two years ago I killed a dark weapon in what I believed was a justifiable circumstance. Although he cried he would lose everything if I took his soul, I was trained to focus on what I perceived to be a lack of humanity in his bleak, reddening eyes.

So I cut him down with one single swing of the axe. And when dealing with dark weapons, their blood tends to stain cotton blend tops. There isn't much of a difference between a dark weapon alive and devouring human souls and a dead one splattered all over the pavement and smeared on your face. They're both an inconvenience to whoever had to deal with them.

But what if we've been wrong?

All of a sudden, we're talking about one human being killing another human being; we're talking about murder. What we kill is supposed to be entirely evil. We can't sympathize with evil because that would mean there is still something human left dwelling within, something we can relate to as heroes and bringers of justice.

We're not highly trained child assassins; we're the protectors of humanity and life.

As we dug into every file on the Sicarius boys we could get our hands on, the realization that I killed somebody's brother sank further and further into my head. The evil I wanted my revenge on now had a motive; it wanted revenge for the evil I had inflicted upon _it_.

If that's not human then I don't know what the hell is.

I'm just as guilty.

We all are.

"_You know Emily, I have never seen my son happier than he is with you."_

In the back of my head I severely doubted it. Kid reaches an almost orgasmic joy whenever anything symmetrical is introduced. I don't think anything could make the guy happier than a perfectly sliced pizza or a symmetrical pair of boobs.

Lord Death, who clearly read the skepticism I didn't even try to hide in my eyes, clicked his tongue as he sat himself back down in his throne. _"Ah, you see Emily, I know my son better than even he realizes. Kiddo was a melancholy wallflower of a boy when he was small; always preferring to play alone than interact with other children. It was only until he met the Thompson girls that he began to grasp the concept of forming bonds of friendship to form self esteem. He's such a sensitive child and still so inexperienced with interacting with others. It's not a symmetrical world that he wants Emily; that's just the surface appearance of what he desires more than anything. What my son wants the most is companionship; someone to serve as his other half and balance him out. Hohoho, my dear, I believe you are the one who can fulfill that desire in my boy."_

My hands felt warm and clammy around the edges of the diadem's box. Lord Death had never actually talked to me about his son before and it sent my heart racing in my chest.

It feels good when you realize you mean something to someone. That's why they give out Oscars and Grammys, because people feed off of the feeling that you are worth two shits to the world. That's the bane of our existence; to be praised and approved of by our peers. I hear it also prevents crow's feet.

Maybe this is the basis of why humans are capable of experiencing guilt. We regret the unjust deeds we do to others because we mean something negatively to someone.

Do I feel guilty that in the end I really have no one to blame but myself for this entire disgrace? I don't know what to call it, but I don't feel good about it. Maybe it's about time I invest in a twelve step program. You know, "Hi my name is Emily Valentine and I'm shit deep in moral conflict."

Yeah, good luck with that.

I place the diadem back into its box, closing the lid delicately as if some bad juju is going to fly out with any sudden movement. With my luck, I've just given myself seven years of bad luck.

Fuck Pandora's boxes with their collection of plagues.

Fuck twelve step guilt programs with their drivel crap.

Fuck gold diadems with their intricate craftsmanship and regality.

And most of all, fuck Death the Kid for making me feel with my heart again.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

Friday – October 31st - 3:57 PM 

"A little more to the left- about a quarter of an inch…I said a QUARTER of an inch, that's a HALF!...Argh, no, that's an eighth of an inch for God's sake…What part of 'Ceiling decorations must be spaced one yard, three feet, or thirty six inches apart' can you not grasp? Measure the distance you fool!"

"Kid! Will you stop harassing these guys trying to set up for _your_ damn party and sit down? Let them do their job or you're going to give yourself a seizure for crying out loud!"

I tug at the collar of my dress shirt, hoping to feel the sensation of cool air filtering across the stifling heat of my clothed skin. Wonderful, between incompetent decorators and the anxiety that the birthday cake will be able to be cut into an even number of slices, I now have to fret over whether I've soaked myself through this damn Armani suit!

"Liz, is it too demanding of me to ask for a little bit of perfection on today of all days?" I rub clockwise into my temples with my finger tips, the dull ache of an oncoming migraine pushing deeper and deeper behind my eyeballs.

Those girls on that MTV reality show really weren't as demanding and jackal-like as I originally perceived; this party organizing business is detrimental.

"You just fired the five guys in charge of turning the dining room into a crypt so I dunno, you tell me if you're going over the edge?" I detest the way Liz rolls her eyes like that. As if her sharpened love affair with dripping every word in that sentence with sarcasm wasn't irritating enough, she has to add physical emphasis to her brutish words. "You're difficult enough without the 'super sweet sixteen' but now you're just down right-PATTI PUT THOSE FLOWER ARRANGEMENTS BACK ON THE TABLE RIGHT NOW!"

The rush of blood to my head is almost dizzying as I whip around to find Patti skipping between rows of tables, her arms full of the blood dipped white roses I had just spent a good _hour_ arranging in correspondence with each other_._

…

Correction; she's just _dropped_ the flowers all over the floor.

…

"OH GOD THIS PARTY IS GOING TO BE A DISASTER! IT WILL BE THE TRAGEDY OF A CENTURY! I WILL BE THE LAUGHING STOCK OF THE ENTIRE TEENAGE POPULATION BECAUSE I CAN'T ACHIEVE SOMETHING AS SIMPLE AS EVENLY SPACED CEILING DECORATIONS AND FLOWER ARRANGEMENTS ON THE TABLE AND I'M GARBAGE AND TRASH AND-"

Between reinforcing the harsh tugging of my hands at the roots of my hair and slowly descending to my knees on the ground, Liz grabs a hold of my shoulder. "Hell, why did I think it would be good idea to bring you down into the hall before everything was all set up! Kid! Chill!" The grand double doors close with a swishing _thud_ as she drags me by the heels away from the party set-up.

Oh God, what if my shoes are scuffing the floor?

"'Chill'? Liz, in case you have failed to notice, the current situation is going every which way but smoothly! We have FOUR hours Liz. FOUR. Perfection takes longer than FOUR hours! If things continue to go the way they are going, imagine the consequences! It will be a disaster; a complete and utter failure! What sort of grim reaper can defeat a kishin but not throw a birthday party to please the masses! I need to do anything but "chill" Liz!"

Liz's brows furrow as she slouches against the wall she's backed the both of us up to, her hands finally releasing their grip from my shoulders. It's fair to say she might have left dents in my skin from where her acrylic nails dug past the fabric of my blazer.

"Everything will be fine, okay? You already gave those guys in there pretty strict instructions about how to place everything. But you being there and freaking the hell out is doing nothing but making them nervous! Do you think anything is going to look right if you go back out there and start throwing a fucking tantrum?" She's pinching the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb, her eyes squeezed into tight, wrinkled lines.

"But Patti-"

"I'll deal with her! Kid, I'm not going to let anything mess up this big day, alright? But for once you need to cool it. No symmetry rants, no needless organizing-"

"Needless!"

"And absolutely NO going into the main hall until it's all set up!" Liz thrusts a finger inches in front of my face. For someone who would rather spend the time to take an exam painting her nails she's surprisingly serious for once.

I suppose you can remove the girl from Brooklyn, but you cannot necessarily remove the Brooklyn from the girl.

"Just…I don't know…go do something else! Go call Emily or whatever-oh."

Whenever I have worked myself into an emotional frenzy, it becomes harder and harder to retain a solid composure that conceals my emotions.

Last night as she opened the window to her bedroom to allow me to crawl inside, I noticed in the sliver of moonlight that her eyes were wet and red. While she did try her best to conceal it upon my inquiring ("I got an eyelash in my eye, it's nothing."), it was more than obvious she had been crying.

I will give Liz some credit; she is not as ill-attentive as I sometimes mistake her to be.

"Alright, tell me what's up. Spill it."

I heave a sigh, my hands sliding themselves into my trouser pockets. "That rather depressing shadow in her eyes has returned. She's sad again."

It's like I am meeting her all over again. She has become frigid and distant, wary and restrained. As I held her hand beneath her bed covers, rubbing soothing little circles into the palm, I felt her mind was somewhere else. It was as if she had completely removed herself from the present to lament over that one kill as a thirteen year old meister, picking it to pieces to figure out what she could have done to keep everything that resulted from happening.

Liz nods. "Oh. Kenji told me she's not taking it well. I don't blame her either. But there's nothing she could have done differently. She did what she had to do. Sometimes you just mess with the wrong people."

Liz and Patti did have a talent for robbing the unsuspecting in the alleys of Brooklyn to survive before I stumbled upon them. It only makes sense to assume she has a mutual understanding.

"What if…perhaps…maybe she will be too sad to come tonight?" There; my innermost, underlining fear of disaster on the table for you.

Liz's hands return to softly lie across my shoulders. "Well, you just need to make sure she knows how important she is to you," The corners of her lips curve upwards into her cheeks. "And I _know_ you've been going to her place in the middle of the night for the past week too," Damn, damn, DAMN. Well, that at least explains the reason she has been giving me that peculiar look every morning recently. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me." That wink is rather suspicious as well.

"But suppose she-!"

"Kid, with the dress I picked out for her, she better damn show up."

I finally feel my muscles lax for the first time today. "I guess you are right. Fine, I'll call Emily and I suppose I can busy myself with a book or two in the library." As I am about to turn on my heel to depart, Liz suddenly tugs a hold of my sleeve.

"Hold it! Since this is probably the only chance I'll have to get you by yourself all night, I should give you part of your birthday gift now." Liz quickly reaches to the back pocket of her far too low riding jeans, her other hand grabbing at my wrist commanding I have my palm up to receive her "gift".

She places the content(s) of her fist gently into my hand, lingering for a moment to press her lips into a strict, fine line in an attempt not to laugh. I don't think I like how this is going. "You can thank me later." With that, she turns on her heel to return back to the main hall.

I resist looking at my hand until she's out of my line of sight.

From the feel of it against my palm, plastic wrappings and the circular ridges straining against them, my cheeks are flaring at the one suspicion that comes to mind. I knew I wasn't liking where she was going with this.

I'm right. Damn, I wish for once I _wasn't_.

Liz just gave me a stack of five, _Lubricated_ labeled condoms.

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

7:55 PM

"Can someone please remind me whose idea it was to rent a car just to arrive at Kid's house? _Which_, might I add is a perfectly capable distance for us to have just walked to?" I'd tell Maka it's her own damn fault for allowing herself to wind up sandwiched between Black Star and Soul in the way back of the car but I think she knows it already. Godspeed my sister.

"C'mon Maka! This is the party of the year! What better way to show up than in a pimped out Range Rover?" Thurston eyes her in the rearview mirror, which is really not something he should be doing when making such a sharp right turn. Let me just say it took _six_ tries for him to get his driver's license. The only reason he got it on the sixth try was because the police officer giving the road test to him was too inebriated off pain killers for an on duty injury to notice what a terrible driver he was. I _wish _I was lying.

And I wish he and Kenji hadn't played rock, paper, scissors to decide who would get to drive us to Kid's party.

Tsubaki, whose fist flies up to her mouth to suppress what looks to be the urge to puke all over her silk kimono, mutters, "Oh please let us arrive there in one piece!"

"Would you have really wanted to walk nearly a mile in those shoes?"

"At least we'd still be alive by the time we'd get there Soul!" Maka whispers harshly between what I sense are clenched teeth.

Thurston manages to fuck up another turn, this time dangerously close to letting a street sign take out the left side view mirror. Lucy, who jumped in the shotgun as soon as Thurston won two out of three by "scissors cut paper man!" might as well be at Six Flags with the thrill plastered on her face. You know what? It's a good roller coaster proposition. We'll call it "The Thurston Palmer Driving Experience." Only the most daring adrenaline junkies will rise to the challenge to be jam packed into an SUV that will stop short at red lights, speed through yield signs, and nearly drive off into oncoming traffic while changing the radio station.

"Slow down dude! It's right up ahead! Just take the next right-OOF!"

Too late to brace myself, the turn throws Tsubaki into Kenji, Kenji into me, and me, specifically my god damn _head_, into the side window.

"OW! Thurston if that just gave me a concussion I'm going to gouge your eyes out with my heels!" Wonderful, I'm already forming a decently sized bump on my head. Ten bucks I left a face print on the glass.

"GET ME OUT OF HERE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!" Sounds like Black Star got the same treatment I did, and he's already climbing out of his seat as we screech to a halt in front of the main gates to Gallows Manor.

Tsubaki has her side door thrown open as if the whole car just went up in flames, stumbling out and onto sturdy pavement followed by Maka and Soul (Who's in the middle of dry heaving).

As I fumble out of the car, just nearly avoiding being tackled by Black Star (He's actually _kissing_ the ground), I look down at the carefully gift paper wrapped copy of _**The Complete Poems of John Donne **_I've held onto tightly since getting in the car.

Good, Kid's gift survived the Party Rover from Hell, along with the stupid little note I wrote on the inside cover. I almost scribbled the entire message out as soon as I read through it. However, not only would it have been a complete waste of the fifty bucks I spent on the gold leafed page edition, but I didn't want to destroy my own honestly again.

"Thurston, just so you know, there's no way in hell you're driving back." Kenji steadies himself up against the back bumper, most likely trying to pull his pulse back to a human rate as he watches Thurston pass along the keys to a chauffeur.

"Aw, don't tell me you're still mad because you suck at rock, paper, scissors?"

"No. I just saw my entire life flashing before my eyes."

Gallows Manor, which is spooky enough alone, is all decked out in creep-tastic Halloween decorations. There are the usually skeletons hanging around, fake grave markers, even a couple enormous cobwebs stretched around. Overall, the mansion is made out to look as if it's been the object of ghost stories and missing children. Crowds of people are walking through the thick, knee deep fog (smoke machine, nice touch) to the front doors.

Giving the chiffon skirt of my dress a few smoothing pats, I make my way down the cobble stone path to the front doors. There's the sound of the chatter of probably hundreds of other guests, not to mention the slight ringing in my ear from being slammed into the car window.

Overall, it sounds like everyone is having a fucking fantastic old time so far.

And passing through the giant double doors, it looks like it too. If the outside decorations weren't good enough, it's like a damn medieval castle or at least the Addam's Family's time share. Brass candelabras, huge suits of armor, cobwebs twisted onto the railings of the grand staircase, and a coffin overflowing with gifts Kid will probably have no use for.

Then again, it's not like he needs anymore books either.

As I slip said stupid book into the pile, which probably consists of at least five bottles of Draakar Noir, two flashes of bright red pass the corner of my eye.

"Damn Kenji, don't you clean up nice," I look over my shoulder in time to see Liz press an overly flirtatious kiss to Kenji's still pale cheek (ugh). "You should slick your hair back like this more often-hey, you feelin' okay?"

"Just give me a couple of minutes. We let Thurston drive here and you're lucky we're still alive."

"Man, Kid better have a buffet table full of food or I'm ditching!"

"Oh Black Star, please don't talk about food right now. I really can't stomach the thought after the ride here." Poor Tsubaki is pretty green.

Patti, wearing the matching red Gucci gown she bought with Liz, starts nearly drooling as she counts off her fingers. "Ahahaha! We got TONS of food! Riiiiibs, chickeeeeeen, fiiiiiiiiiish, pastaaaaaaaaa, potatooooooooes, haaaaaaaam-"

"Oh wonderful! It looks like the gang is all here! And just in time!" Lord Death, and shit he needs to stop appearing out of thin air like that, bounces over to my side, clad in a little bow tie to meet the demand for "formal attire". "Hohohoho! You all look absolutely spectacular!" As he turns his head to look at the ten of us, he lingers on my head, most likely looking at Lilith's diadem.

Just what I need; Another reason to be stared at.

Suddenly, and thank God before Lord Death can start rambling on about how _right_ he thinks I look in dead people's shit, the giant old grandfather clock (Bought just for the occasion), begins to boom with the strike of eight.

"Ah! That's my cue! I'll talk to you all later!" With that, he bounces over to stand in front of the stairs.

Here comes the grand entrance of the birthday boy. Maybe he'll be carried down the stairs in a giant coffin or lowered from the ceiling by stunt wires.

Lord Death, with a brief throat clearing cough into a gloved hand, calls for the attention of all the party guests. "May I have your attention everyone? It is now eight o'clock. At this time, I would love to announce in the young Grim Reaper we are all here for; My son, Death the Kid!"

Applause begins to break out all around, other party guests scrambling into the room to get a look at the figure that steps out carefully at the top of the stairs.

There he is. His hair perfectly styled and in place. That custom made Armani suit he wouldn't shut up about for the past week tailored flawlessly. His shoes shined so clean someone probably broke a wrist buffing them.

And, of course, he's looking _right at me_.

Fuck, he's making his way down the stairs towards me like I'm some prized princess.

Professor Stein could come wheeling into the room holding the dead carcass of some endangered animal and it wouldn't matter. Kid would still be looking at me and only me.

My heart's a mess in my chest because I've been ignoring that soul taking way he's looking at me for the past few days. I've been avoiding staring people in the eye for too long as of lately. If I look into their eyes for too long I'm going to be looking into the fever red, dreadful eyes of Abel Sicarius, begging me not to slice through his neck for his soul.

That feeling though doesn't come as guests move out of the path to allow Kid to stalk on towards me.

The applause is gone and all I hear are half assed, muted whispers.

And now all I can smell is that cologne he always wears that he'll get five bottles of tonight as he's suddenly inches from me.

"Hello." Has his voice always been that smooth sounding?

"Hi." I've never felt more vulnerable in my whole fucking life.

"You look," Kid breathes a deep hum of appreciation. "Enticing, elegant, alluring, striking, dazzling, marvelous, breath taking…excuse me but I need to think of a few more adjectives."

Yikes. Everyone and their mothers are watching. Lucy has that overly enthusiastic grin planted across her face, Liz by her side smirking her ass off. I'll kick Black Star's ass later for making those kissing faces.

For all I can tell of Lord Death, he's watching us like some overly hormonal Lifetime movie watcher drowning her midlife crisis in Dove chocolates.

My breath hitches in my throat as Kid subtlety crooks his fingers underneath my limply hanging hands. And just like that, I'm calm and collective, not doe deer scared shitless and pulling away as if his touch was electrocuting. "'You look good' would've been enough you know."

Kid's face turns into a sheepish expression, his lips upturned into an awkward, and I hope he doesn't realize it, crooked smile. "Would a birthday kiss be too much to grant me with? Seeing as you do look so 'wonderful' and all."

This feels more comfortable. Even in that priceless Armani suit, the center of the party of the year, Kid's still just a teenage boy trying to come off as smooth in front of hundreds of people. What a total dope.

"Don't use your birthday as an excuse to suck my face off," I roll my eyes, at the same time securing his fingers in my grip. "That's crap and we both know it."

Just barely, Kid leans in closer, his breath blowing against the corner of my mouth. "Am I quite that readable to you?"

There's no lingering of guilt in the pit of my stomach anymore. I should pull him aside later and ask how he manages to do this to me. "You're predictable, yeah, but it also doesn't take an expert to break down sixteen year-old boys."

"I suppose you have me figured out then."

And there's this ear splitting burst of applause as our lips connect.

If I had known this would have been enough I could've saved fifty dollars.

* * *

><p><span>9: 17 PM – Outskirts of Death City<span>

It's not the carnage or the look of life fading from the eyes of the prey that brings a hunter to the brink of that addictive sensation of euphoria. While the sadistic aspects of the hunter playing the role of a wrathful and cruel God are indeed important, it's the thrill that stalking the prey brings that is most enjoyable.

It was never as if Emily tried to hide from them. She knew that they were just biding their time until they deemed it would be proper to strike. However, Cain recognized that Emily would assume that they would go in for the kill rather than take the opportunity to shadow their lost little lamb. They had to make her squirm first or else they wouldn't be able to savor the moment of pulling the trigger.

Of course, the entire purpose of taking a break from their busy schedule of strengthening their developing god to risk venturing into Death City wasn't just to crash some sweet sixteen.

Noah figured it would be the perfect opportunity to finally go after BREW. It would be easy to bypass all of the security he knew Lord Death had placed in preparation for his arrival, thanks to the Book of Eibon. Not to mention Justin was going to be the perfect partner in the heist, seeing as he knows the entire school inside out and backwards.

As soon as the heist was complete, then it was time for phase two: Operation Awakening, Operation Freak the Bitch Out, Operation Party Crashers; they never actually decided on a name for it.

Cain had separated the sequence for Soul Protection from the DNA of witches just for this occasion. It was already too simple to make their way into the city, especially with the streets lacking their usual flow of traffic thanks to the big event in town tonight.

He was a master at the splicing of genes and the manufacturing of DNA. Thanks to his efforts, he, Gopher, and Giriko didn't even have to open their mouths in order to speak to each other.

Cain, with a jovial spring in each step he made down the dark alleyway, took another long drag off of his cherry flavored cigarette. "_Have I ever told you boys about how much I fucking love parties?_"

Gopher's nose scrunched up in annoyance. "_Only about, I don't know, seventeen times already you buffoon. And put out those damn cigarettes! Noah-sama said…_"

"_What, you goin' to complain to him 'bout us smokin'? Why Noah ever recruited some whiney little bitch like you is fucked up._"

"_You'll learn to put up with him eventually Giriko. He's just like one of those stupid little yippy dogs, always bitching and whatever. You tune it out soon enough._"

"_I can hear you!_"

"_No shit._"

Giriko, that slasher smile of his decorated by the hanging cigarette clenched between his razor sharp teeth, moved quickly to kick a tin can from his walking path. "_So, tell me how we're goin' 'bout this whole 'party crashin'' thing again?_"

"_Sorry to say, but we're not going to be picking up any chicks or getting a free dinner at this party. We're going to be in the background until Noah gives us the signal to go ahead and force our presence on Emily and Lucy. Of course, it's Emily we really want to see. Lucy has the blood figured out, no fucking thanks to Gopher…_"

"_How was I supposed to know she was going to wake up! If you're so adamant that it's my fault she got away, why didn't __**you **__go to the hospital instead of me?_"

"_Because you've got a big enough pussy to dress in drag._"

"_Why you-!_"

"_Yeah, yeah. Who the fuck cares? Anyways, we all know Emily continues to resist the blood. And as long as the blood of our god continues to pump with her DNA, she's ours to fuck with. She won't have any choice when we push against her. I have a feeling we'll be seeing something interesting tonight boys._"

Giriko ground out his cigarette underneath the heel of his steel tipped boot. "_I do like the way you think my man. This takes stalking your exes to my kind of level!_"

"_Also, don't expect to go around tearing shit up tonight either. We're not after blood right now. Watching someone fall as helpless to the shit around them is just as satisfying as hacking away as bodies and shooting a bullet between the eyes. It's time Emily has a taste of what it really feels like to lose humanity. After that, we'll take away the one thing from her that will force her to crawl back to us on her fucking hands and knees. Then she will understand how I love her._"

The puff of smoke Cain released from his lips filtered into the night sky in thin little wafts. "_It's you and me again bro. Your little man's getting shit wrecked for you tonight._"

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

10: 28 PM

"WOOHOO! YEAH!"

"THURSTON FOR SHIT'S SAKE WATCH IT!" Why am I even bothering with screaming at the top of my lungs? It's not like this dumbass can hear anything with all the guitar riffs and drumming and shit. So he's swinging his elbows everywhere like he's covered in fire ants, getting dangerously close to giving me a black eye.

The last time he did that was at a Death From Above 1979 show. I couldn't see out of my left eye for three days.

Oh yeah, that's right, I totally forgot to mention The Horrors are playing an hour and a half set exclusively for this party. Yes. Kid got _The_ fucking _Horrors_, all the way from god damn England, to play for him tonight. He spent a good fifteen minutes in the bathroom wiping off all the lipstick I planted all over his face after telling me what band just finished setting up in the back ball room.

_Irrespective of the subject I will make it apply,  
>No matter what the object I will count in fives,<br>Tell me the location I will stand outside..._

Kid's arm wraps a little tighter around my waist as he pushes Mosh-hole along and out of a three foot range from us. Heh, I feel bad for the chump who'll be getting a black eye in the two minutes left of the set.

Black Star crowd surfs past, and wow I'm surprised his tuxedo jacket lasted as long as it did because it's gone now. Sucks for him, Tsubaki told me it's a rental.

_Oh yeah,  
>If you try to deceive me<br>I feel it burn in my hand.  
>Now watch the numbers run to me<br>As I count them in fives_

"Thank you Death City and happy birthday to Death the Kid. Go bloody nuts tonight, it's your party! Goodnight everyone!" Faris Badwan a.k.a. British Goth Dude Frontman, gives a mock salute to the crowd as he retreats off stage with the rest of the band.

And the crowd's clapping and cheering around us. By the looks of it, Black Star's going to spend the rest of the night looking for that tux jacket. So much for stalking the buffet table all night, huh?

"Come with me for a moment." Kid tugs gently at my wrist, whispering a little too closely into my ear.

He doesn't pause for an answer, though I never expected he would. Instead, he just decides to drag me behind him through the crowd, muttering "Excuse me" and "Pardon" all the way. Cute, all he needs is a staff and a long ass beard and he can be Moses parting the sea of hormones.

As we pull ourselves out of the crowd, Kid continues to pull me until we're standing by the overfilled coffin of birthday gifts. His arm snakes back around my waist again, draping over my hips.

"I would appreciate it if I could open your gift first."

I get it. He must already suspect that at least five of those gifts are Drakkar Noir.

"Whatever happened to waiting until after cake?" My hand wraps around the familiar package, and I have to carefully shimmy it out. You know. Big ass pile of presents. Possible Jenga effect. Me buried under big ass pile of presents. Kid flipping a shit.

He shrugs. "I want to open yours in a more personal manner."

Out of context that sounds pretty dirty.

Finally successful in Operation Avoid Being Buried Alive, I hand him the book. He carefully sets to working his fingers underneath the wrapping paper folds, because only he would treat unwrapping birthday gifts like open heart surgery.

From the other room the mini orchestra is setting back up. A couple of DWMA students walk past, half deaf from The Horrors because they're yelling about next week's test at each other. Suddenly the air is starting to feel a little bit warmer.

Of course, he's folding the wrapping paper back up and putting it in his pocket.

Kid's eyes get a little bit bigger and something begins to gleam in his golden irises. "'The Complete Poems of John Donne'? Emily…" Okay, well that's the kind of speechless reaction someone gets when they receive something pretty damn good. I'll pat myself on the back for a job well done later.

"It has gold leafed pages too. Now how about that?" I mutter. He sneaks a couple of wide eyed glances at me, turning the book over in his hands like it's the most precious thing in the world.

And he's opening the front cover.

Eh, fuck. I guess I can just stand here awkwardly twiddling my thumbs like a piece of shit.

_What_ exactly did I write?

"'Kid, you've done so much for me that on second thought, this book really isn't enough to show for it. At least it has gold leafed pages.

"'I know I've dragged a lot of chaos with me ever since I came here. I don't know when or even if I can resolve it, but its tiring living in fear and loathing, so it's a good thing you're here. I'm trying to avoid coming off like some sappy teenage love song but the truth is you mean a lot to me. You've made living a little easier again when I'm secretly scared of the things around me and myself. A book of poetry isn't enough to tell you that and hopefully I can make it to you in a better way eventually.

"'Love, Emily.'"

God was that uncomfortable to hear read out loud.

"Yeah, that sounded like word vomit, I know." Why yes, the floor _is _pretty interesting to look at right now. What a nice floor. I can even see how red my cheeks are in that flawless reflection. Did I mention how smooth it is?

And shit, his arm is wrapping around my waist again, reeling me back into him. The hair at the nape of my neck stands up on end as lips press to the pulse of my neck. But, of course, that calming sensation is back in my veins like a bunch of tranquilizers.

I guess he likes the book then.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

11:28 PM

As the maestro cues in the orchestra, Emily glares at me with such feigned annoyance I cannot hold back the laugh that has made its way up my throat.

"Hey, if you prove to be a crappy dance partner I'm dropping your ass birthday or no birthday. So I'd get serious about now if I were you."

Sorry to say my dear, but I doubt I will be having any regrets for pulling the maestro aside and requesting he cue up the waltz from _Sleeping Beauty_. There was such an enthralling magic that came with watching Emily dance earlier this week. It was like watching a flower, that is, a beautifully symmetrical bud of a flower, slowly blossom. I just had to experience such an ensnarement hand to hand. Strange, hundreds and hundred of years ago, courtship was dealt with primarily through dance, and yet until this moment I have had yet to share such a tradition with her.

I lean in just a bit closer into Emily's ear. "You think a man of privilege such as myself would go sixteen years without learning how to dance? I really hate to prove you wrong darling." With a curt nod of my head to the maestro, the strings kick in with a mighty forte of sound.

We move together as one mass of coordinated limbs as the horns begin their spiraling descent and growth. Already the coil of emotional arousal is humming steady in my gut.

Though I'm not the two left footed fool Emily just made me out to be, I'm not rehearsed in the dance moves that accompany this waltz. Emily, for all I can assume, is staying faithful to her specific routine as the prima ballerina in _Sleeping Beauty_. She is the one leading me as she subtly places my hands on the swell of her hips as the smooth melody of strings, horns, and woodwind drifts in.

All eyes are on us.

There's a peculiar sureness in Emily's movements. They are on point, carefully planned, perfected. She's leaving no room for error according to the calculated expression on her face. Her mind is encasing itself in steel, deflecting any outside forces that could cause one off centre movement of her feet.

She's facing me again. "I'm impressed. You keep up pretty well."

I brush my lips up against the shell of her ear. "Did you really expect me to be sloppy?"

She leans in so close that I can name every note of the perfume she spritzed across her collar bone: Galbanum, jasmine, white-musk.

"Just because you can fold your toilet paper into perfect eights doesn't mean you're a good dancer."

Orange, lentiscus, cedar. "I have yet to step all over you however."

She twirls away from my inquisitive gaze, a momentary blur of bright red and black, and begins to circle me in a delicate prance. That mischievous smirk of hers on those red lips directed towards me, Emily lightly brushes my jaw with her fingers, sending a chill running down my spine.

"Sorry, it's just pretty damn funny to see you still getting all flustered when I do something like that." Her copper irises gleam with the rawness of herself she's kept under restraint ever since I met her. The real Emily, underneath all the sarcasm, guilt, and hardness is comfortable, radiant, and impish. If things had been different when I saw her sitting upon Maka's couch, staring with disinterest at a cup of tea, would I still be able to call her mine?

What if her eyes weren't guarding any sort of deep internal conflict when she looked at me for the first time?

It really wasn't until she had crawled into bed with me that night and held my hand that I met the girl underneath all the fear and anger. She comes and goes in flashes, some longer than others, but all the same it feels special to be able to see that side of her.

Emily slips back in front of me, holding my hands overhead and swaying back and forth to the rhythm. The xylophone pecks out a dainty tune to accompany the soft sound of the flute.

White musk, box-tree green, incense. It smells almost as wonderful as her pheromones. What I'd give to breathe in that scent again, perhaps, in a more _intense _quantity. No, no, no. I may be a grim reaper but I do have enough restraint to avoid such animalistic urges in public! But here go my thoughts, replaying the scene of Emily spent and heavy limbed against my chest. I'm running my fingers through her hair and silently memorizing the taste of her breasts in my mouth.

Adolescence in its simplest form is the agony of hormones separating the mind from the body. It turns boys such as myself into borderline savages and girls into women with devious appetites for mastery.

The piece comes to its last repetition and now, with Emily departing from step for step recreating the official dance, we're together in a traditional waltz.

This is how married couple dance at their wedding reception.

Is it too soon to say those three little words to her? Could I whisper it in her ear tonight? Pull her away from the crowd again just long enough to say a leading monologue and "I love you"?

But would her guard be up again?

The orchestra beats away into its finale, and Emily drapes her back over my forearm in a closing pose.

Around the room a roar of applause goes off. Maka is smiling, Soul at her side directing a thumbs up at me. Black Star, who still has yet to find the jacket to his tuxedo (I don't expect to be paying for it either, that's his problem), pumps his fist in the air hooting and hollering. Liz and Kenji, their arms interlocked, seem to be providing the loudest applause.

I wonder…I wonder what my mother would say if she were here? Would she like Emily? Father said there was no doubt that she would have loved her, but would she be proud of me? Of my accomplishments? Of my ability to keep up with a prima ballerina?

I could let my mind spiral into a flurry of thoughts, but there's a tug at my sleeve and lips to my ear. "I'll be right back, I need to go fix my make-up. You want to dance again when I come back?"

That might as well have been a rhetorical question. She is quite aware of the answer already. "As long as you make sure your eyeliner is even across both eyes."

With a playful pat on the shoulder, she walks off with the most luminous smile I have ever seen.

I have to tell her tonight. I just have to tell her how I feel.

Come midnight, the first second of November first, the first words I'll say will be "I love you".

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

11:36 PM

For one night of my life, which most of the time seems too much to ask over whoever the hell is in charge of karma, _everything_ is going right. How many girls in the world can say they just fixed their liquid eyeliner perfectly on the first go? Liquid eyeliner, also known as "The Devil" to those with unsteady hands, usually takes about five minutes to apply flawlessly and without smudging. I've been wearing this stuff since I was twelve and it still is sometimes a huge bitch to deal with.

Nope. Not tonight.

Shit, I actually look familiar again. I've got the biggest, most ridiculous grin on my face and maybe I am finally happy for the first time in months? Congratulations Kid, you've done it. You're the new Miracle Worker. Water, water, water.

With the lights so dim in this bathroom it's almost spooky to see such a long lost look on my face. My eyes, batting their full lashes that I spent nearly ten minutes perfectly curling, have this dreamlike glaze to them. At this moment I'm more than flesh, blood, bones, and hormones. I'm myself again, without all the stupid Wall of Jericho I've built around myself.

There's little trace of the story of Cain and Abel Sicarius to think about. I can furiously go back to working out the best way to end this entire mess tomorrow. For tonight I don't think it's too much to ask to let me have a break from myself.

I feel something cool and wet swipe at the back of my hand. "Shit." Ugh, I'm so full of myself at the moment I forgot I was still holding a very wet eyeliner applicator, leaving a thick but smooth stripe from my wrist to knuckle.

Screwing the applicator back in and placing the liner back into my clutch, I pump a couple of squirts of soap in the palm of my hand, turning the sink on with a push of my elbow.

Kid can wait a couple of more minutes. He'd freak out anyways if he saw me come back with makeup smeared all over my hand.

"_."_

I shut the water off and send a couple of cautious glances to my left and right. I'm all alone in this bathroom.

Strange.

"_."_

The noise, like someone's exaggerated release of breath, blows loudly past my ear, sending my body into a knee jerk reaction that knocks my clutch bag onto the floor.

Beyond my own suddenly ragged breathing, I hear a tube of my lipstick rolling slowly across the marble floor and two quarters clattering behind the toilet.

"_."_

No. Dammit, no.

Not tonight. No.

I feel them. They're here. Oh fuck they're here.

There's something breathing down the back of my neck and drifting up the notches of my spine. My lungs are tighter in my throat. My eyes are trying to roll into the back of my skull.

Blood is starting to flow in reverse.

And the room is suddenly bigger and I'm so very small within it and I can't reach the bottle that says "Drink Me" on it.

"_You know, it was **really **rude of you to snub me an invite to the party."_

Emily, you need to get out of here as fast as you can. Go. Run.

Get to the door. Quick. You're small enough to fit through the door, right?

Hurry. Get Kenji.

Kid. I have to find him. He's waiting for another dance. Reach for the door knob and twist even if it burns right through your hand.

Just get to the doo-

"_Oh no no no no no! Tonight, we're doing things **my **way." _

My knees are locked. I'm on the floor. The cold marble floor. Nothing but paralyzed weight.

And my fingers are bending against my will. Insides churning. Eyes rolling. Bones cracking. Blood growing cold. Skin crawling. It's denying me the ability to breathe.

My body isn't mine anymore. _I'm _the parasite.

Anyone. Someone. Please.

"_It's my turn now."_

* * *

><p><span>11:36 PM – Main Ballroom<span>

It was at this point in time, whilst Thurston was finishing his fifth slice of dark chocolate cake, that he heard the dreadful noise of uncontrollable laughter.

As his fork clattered onto his plate, he turned to his weapon-slash-girlfriend, Lucy, with a look of pure fright detailing his face.

Because Lucy didn't laugh like that. She laughed like little garden pixies.

The sound spewing from her mouth was the cackling of insanity.

These were the words she managed to say between those chilling giggles: Go get the others. They're here.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

Two months late WOOHOO!

Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry! I had AP exams, prom, graduation, and just a ton of end of the year crap to deal with. Of course, this story is my baby and you don't abandon babies. At least I hope you don't.

This current "The Party From Hell" arc may spawn two more chapters, depending on how long the next segment of the story is, which is finally action. Then, we get to the more, well, the more M-rated content again.

Also the mass deletion of fics for explicit content on this site is utter crap. Honestly, if anything should be deleted in mass amounts it should be crap stories full of typos and in chat format. Did you know that that _also _isn't allowed?

Anyways, in case this story does get deleted, and because I probably won't receive my invite to AO3 until December, I'll post the rest of this story on my fanfiction tumblr: phero-mones.

Will Kid ever get to say "I love you"? Can Emily get back control of her body from the fantum parasitus? Does Black Star ever find his tux jacket (SPOILER ALERT: He doesn't)?

All this, and more, will be answered in the next chapter.

Stay tuned. Hopefully it won't be another long wait.

**Playlist (Listen to in THIS ORDER)**

**Infra-Red by Placebo**

**Shake It Out by Florence + the Machine**

**Born to Die by Lana Del Rey**

**Dread On Arrival by Michael Giacchino (From Let Me In)**

**Count In Fives by The Horrors**

**Sleeping Beauty: Waltz by Tchaikovsky (From the ballet Sleeping Beauty)**

**Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart**

Read and review my loves!

- Nicole


	17. Against the Wall

"_Slip through the door  
>Like someone you've never seen before<br>And I teach you the way  
>To forget all the pain<br>But I can't let go  
>Of what's inside<em>

_Grasping for sand_  
><em>Time won't let me stand<em>  
><em>Against the wall<em>  
><em>Against the wall<em>  
><em>So I rise up"<em>

**- Zola Jesus, 'Stridulum'**

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

"_EMILY! OPEN THE DOOR!"_

_Rushes of blood to the head cancel out any perception of up and down you have ever formed. This bathroom, it's just one void in space that I can't escape. There's nothing but the sinister voice of a child screaming- no- hissing, in my head. There's nothing but the dull feeling of my fingernails dragging up and down my arms, marking angry red lines and small beads of blood. Red blood._

_It's inside me. It's living inside of me. _

_I tried blocking my ears, closing my eyes, even yelling at myself to "Wake the fuck up". But this is reality. This is my reality now. _

_It told me that we are two halves of one whole. That we are one flesh and blood. I said, "No." This is nightmare, a hallucination, anything but the real thing. _

_I guess this is Cain's parting gift to me: heartbreak, betrayal, and an infection of black blood. It's a gift that keeps on giving, with the voices screaming in my ears and the things I see in my peripheral vision. Each morning I wake up hoping that everything that had happened was all a terrible dream, that my life is just as normal as it once was._

_And every morning I'm disappointed to find out that this is my **reality**._

_I know in my gut that I've turned black on the inside, all rotted and dead like he wanted me to look like from the beginning. _

_But everything my fingertips are smearing from elbow to wrist is red. _

_What a dark and twisted joke my life is turning out to be. This is the punch line of my existence; me sitting here on the edge of the bathtub scratching my arms into a bloody mess like your average schizophrenic. Ha ha ha. _

"_DAMMIT EMILY! PLEASE! YOU NEED HELP!"_

_I wish Kenji would stop screaming and banging against the door. I can't concentrate. _

"_IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT! WE'LL GET THROUGH THIS TOGETHER! JUST PLEASE, OPEN THE DOOR!"_

_Would it really kill him to stop lying through his teeth? As if that's going to convince me he believed every word I said on the verge of tears ("Em, you're tired and you should really try to get a good night of sleep"). As if that will make Lucy wake up ("Em she's being taken care of by the country's best doctors"). As if that will make up for all the damage I've caused ("Em, **you're** the victim"). _

_As if I can take any of it back._

"_**You did this."**_

_I never thought Thurston was capable of speaking in such a cold tone. A guy who always has a joke to crack, a metal song to sing off key, and a stupid thing to say that would leave us laughing for the rest of the day, he put his hate for me into three destructive words. Now I can't stop hearing it in my ears. _

_I scratch along my wrist again to draw out more blood. Nope, nothing, just red._

_How do you separate flesh and blood? How do you fix something when you've dug your grave so deep that you can't see the light at the surface anymore? How do you pick your heart up off the ground after it's been left to rot for the flies to feed at?_

"_EMILY!"_

_I need to dig deeper, beneath the flesh. _

_Fuck. Fuck. No other options left. _

_Desperation makes the worst of ideas rational. _

_This is going to look so bad._

_Sorry Mom. Sorry Kenji. Sorry Dad. Sorry Lucy. Sorry Thurston. _

_And sorry Lilith. _

_My fist sends the bathroom mirror shattering into shards of broken glass. I'm so numb I can't feel the pain of little shards slicing my knuckles._

_A large piece, dagger sharp, slides into the sink. It's just the right size in my hand, this perfect carving tool._

_I guess this is how the deaf, blind, and dumb feel; completely helpless. _

_BANG!_

_Out of time. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Just stare at the door your cousin has just kicked in because you'll have to pay for the damages. _

"_Emily. Oh my God what have you done?"_

_It doesn't look good: My arms, all red and scratched up, broken glass everywhere, me, completely ready to slice into my arms like bad lunchmeat. _

_I don't want to die. But God, something inside of me needs to._

I've had enough with this scene. I've had enough with this smell in my lungs, so foul smelling that I can taste the rotting meat, the burnt hair, and the coppery tang of blood.

_Kenji's wrestling the piece of glass, my only hope, out of my grip. He's repeating "Jesus Christ" and "Oh my God" under his breath. _

_You stupid asshole, Kenji. You stupid fucking asshole. This was my only chance to fix everything. What do I have to do to prove to you that I've turned black on the inside?_

This is the part where Kenji lowered the both of us to the floor, hugging me close to his chest while I screamed at the top of my lungs until I passed out; my Oscar winning performance.

"_GET IT OUT OF ME! PLEASE! IT WANTS TO REPLACE ME!"_

Bad blood is undeniably the worst smell this world can offer.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

Answer me. God damn you. Answer me.

"**Because you're weak when you fight back."**

She's dragged me here; this stage with its wall of one hundred mirrors, their reflections all showing the scene of my defeat. The empty audience which fills with ghostly clones of myself from every age that only cheers when it looks like I'll swing from the gallows.

She looks away from admiring my memory, glancing over her bony shoulder.

"**It's really too bad you never considered Lucy's advice. The power you possess thanks to our little bond makes her as insignificant as you've always wanted her to be," **She walks closer with the ballerina perfect posture it took me a month and a sense of balance to achieve at seven years old, **"It's so unfair, isn't it? Being in a coma was about the best thing for her! Do you know why she agreed to her darker side?"**

"It was the only thing keeping her from waking up." My mouth is dry as I choke the words out and there's the burn of stomach acid in my esophagus.

She's so close that I can see the paths of the broken blood vessels in her eyes. **"Oh, but there's more to it than that! She had the strength to accept what she kept deep down on the inside. Lucy may try to keep herself from being bothered by the kind of teenage melodrama you've been hoarding, but she's still human. She could have chosen to stay in her wonderful comatose Wonderland where everyone and everything understood her. That would have been the easiest choice to make. However, she accepted her dark nature, the side that wants to destroy things and rip the world to pieces, and became one with it. Of course, she had a one sided relationship with her other half to begin with. I live within you, and you live within my host, your new goddess of madness. Cain loved you enough to gift you with such power and you still say 'no'?"**

"So what are you saying? That I'm stupid for not wanting to give into all of this bullshit?" Like shit I'm going to play anymore into Noah's plans. This is what they want. They already have the type of connection Lucy has. She's insurance.

I'm their fucking science project.

"**I'm saying that you're weak! When you resist me you're only resisting your potential to be half God. I'm everything you want to be, everything you should be. Together we can be everything. No more pressure, no more failure, no more living in Lilith's shadow." **She yanks me by the chin, her fingernails digging painfully deep into the flesh of my jaw. Witches fingers. Witches nails.

Skin me alive instead, I dare you. "I won't do it."

She rolls her eyes, her hand releasing my aching jaw in favor of her hip. **"Oh please. We both know you can't stomach yourself. All you ever wanted was to protect the ones you loved. But that takes a back seat when legacy is on the line, doesn't it?" **I'm being circled like prey. That stomach acid I felt in my esophagus is currently residing in the back of my throat. **"How does it feel to know you valued glory and worthless dreams over your friends and family?"**

She's really asking for another glass shard in the throat, isn't she? My fists clench so tight I'm cracking my knuckles.

"**Why are you so afraid to accept something that's a part of you?"**

You're not _any _part of me you sick, twisted fuck.

"Get out."

And she's laughing, stopping short on her heels to cackle right in my face. **"I'm afraid I can't do that honey. You see, I'm in control now. **_**You're**_** the parasite. If anything doesn't belong here it's **_**you**_**."**

I'm fucking stuck here. While Noah and Cain cause God knows how much chaos on the outside, I'm being held hostage by a split personality.

If this were some midday soap opera or a Lifetime movie I'd boo and then turn the channel.

"**Aw, you look sad!" **Her witches claws grasp my bare shoulders, a touch alone that's making me want to scrub my skin with steel wool and bleach. **"Well, maybe this might cheer you up. You don't have to play parasite; you do have another option."**

Bullshit. There's a catch, there's always a catch.

She tiptoes over to the edge of the stage, so gracefully it's as if she never touches the ground.

I know the offer. I won't take it. Keep that fruit the hell away from me.

An embalmed arm gestures out to the audience, which fills up with a sea of myself in a blink. **"Dance for them Emily. Dance with me and we can become one. Come on, just accept all the foulest and most self destructive parts of you keep hidden! Human nature is incomplete without blood lust and the capacity for destruction." **

The clapping in the audience is turning into cheering.

She licks her lips with a forked, grey tongue. **"I can get you the revenge you so desperately want. Together we can be a part of a new world order! We can be powerful!"**

And the audience is standing up in ovation.

And my rage is bile in the back of my mouth dieing to fly out onto the floor.

And I won't allow myself to become the monster Cain wants me to be; I won't be another unfortunate soul. As if I'd fall that easily.

"Go to hell _cunt_."

It feels so good to finally say it; to see her frown in discontent and cut the psychotic-ballerina act for one moment. But, of course, that lapse of sick pleasure ends as quickly as it had come, and she's sneering with amusement in her eyes once again.

"**I'll just take that as a 'no' then," **I don't like the way she's looking at me, as if I'm a toy she's about to break. **"Not the wisest choice, considering all of your friends are in quite the tight spot having to deal with party crashers with you only adding to the burden. I also don't find your tone of voice particularly 'cute'," **She tiptoes forward, the look in her eyes full of sick anticipation. **"I think it's about time somebody humbled you to your level."**

A sudden feeling of numbness surges down my tailbone to my feet, leaving me with only a split second to brace myself from hitting the floor face first.

It's a free fall my lower half doesn't even acknowledge because I can't _feel_ anything from the waist down.

My legs. She's taken my legs. They're nothing but dead weight.

Right in my ear, someone is screaming.

No. Wait. It's me.

"**See what I've been trying to tell you sweetie? Resisting will only leave you tethered to weakness. I'm the dominant presence now." **And according to the sick, twisted look in her eyes, she's not done with me yet. Not by a long shot.

She stands over me, her looming like a nightmare that you can't blink away from your eyes. **"You're fighting a losing battle against me. Everything you know I know as well. I know where to stab to make you feel agony like you've never felt before.** **Love really is just another form of vulnerability! It's just too easy! Maybe you'll be a bit more cooperative when I have your precious reaper by the throat."**

She's absolutely right. She knows where to make it hurt the most. Because there's a special kind of pain in my heart for Kid, different from the pain I have for Kenji, Lucy, and Thurston. That pain is romance, the whole fucking chemical shit load of it. Romantic love is the most vulnerable kind of love there is. It's a suicide pact of reds and pinks and hormones.

Oh Kid, what the fuck have I dragged you into?

"**Don't forget, you did promise him one last dance."**

"With me!" I slam a fist so hard against the floor that vibrations travel up my arm. "He'll figure it out you stupid cunt! You're not me!" She's still fucking smiling. If only I weren't chained to the floor by my own skin and bones I'd rip the rest of that Glasgow smile to the nape of her neck. "You've only got until Cain and Noah bail you stupid-"

"**And what, you think time and some Teen Beat reaper will be your saving grace? How does it feel to be the weakest link? The poor little pathetic damsel in distress? You can't even fight back against yourself!" **With a high pitched, ear splitting cackle, she crouches down eye to eye with me. And in her demon eyes I see the entirety of pain I've experienced in my life. It's all in her stare, every single terrible memory I've gathered in nearly sixteen years. Rejection. Failure. Anger. Sadness. Fear. Heartbreak.

Weakness.

That stomach bile I've been trying to keep down this entire time, it's burning on my tongue.

"**My, don't you look just dreadful! Really, I think you could use a little relaxation," **She leans forward, her dead, scarred lips fractions of an inch from my ear. **"Let me help you with that."**

Numbness travels from my shoulders down to my finger tips, my arms falling right out from underneath me. Everything below my neck is paralyzed, numb body parts. And to think the people on those TLC specials live like this.

That newly strong smell of copper in the air and that warm, liquid tingling under my cheek? Yeah, that's blood from where I've just slammed the side of my head onto the floor.

If anyone can hear me screaming, please listen up because this might be the last thing I'll ever say.

If I die here, inside my own body, please, tell Death the Kid that I love him.

And tell him I'm so sorry.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

When Emily said "I'll be right back", I did not expect the span of five minutes to feel more like five hours waiting for her.

The current time? Well, according to this decrepit grandfather clock I have been pacing past for so long, it is currently eleven forty.

Then again, this clock _is _a decoration. I can't even say for certain it actually works. And the more and more I look to the clock's hands and numbers the more I'm convinced it's just another broken antique.

The anxiety and anticipation I feel in the depth of my stomach urges me to find Lucy, Kenji, or Thurston and inquire if they have seen my date within the last "five" minutes. But like Emily, I haven't seen any one of them during this span of time.

Actually, this is the first time I have found myself alone all night.

Ah, well, at least it allows me to gather my thoughts together. For Grim reapers such as myself, the words "I love you" are the symbolic first steps towards _that _absolute union between two bodies and two souls.

Yes, if you have been paying any hindrance of attention you most likely have picked up on the fact that the mating habits of Grim reapers are quite important.

I find this to be rather ironic considering we _are_ Gods of Death.

"Ho, ho, ho! Kiddo! What's got you pacing back and forth instead of enjoying the last few minutes of your party?"

Speaking of Gods of Death…

"Oh, hello father. Don't mind me, I'm simply waiting for Emily to come back from the restroom for a final dance," I give the clock another glance…this must be the longest lasting minute of my entire existence. "You haven't seen her, have you father? Also I believe this grandfather clock is broken…"

My father merely vibrates with laughter. "Oh Kiddo! I think there's something in that little noggin of yours that's got you so worked up, isn't there?"

Perhaps I shouldn't have made it so obvious? "Well, I think I…" My voice hideously cracks mid-sentence. Damn these jittery nerves of mine, just damn them. "I'm p-planning to confess my l-love for Emily at midnight." Now I'm just looking at the clock to avoid my father seeing the traitorous flush of blood in my face.

This is all terribly awkward considering that the orchestra in the other room is playing "Orpheus In the Underworld", or as Patti calls it, "The Song French Ladies Can-Can To".

"Well congratulations Kiddo! I always knew you would make a great selection!" I may be sixteen now but apparently that means nothing against him patting me on the head like a young child or a _dog_. "Love between a Grim reaper and a human is such a powerful thing!"

On second thought, maybe I should have refrained from saying anything related to romance at all. "Yes father, I know-"

"If any human is more deserving of 'the gift' it's Emily Valentine alright!"

I feel the unresistable urge to cringe in my spine. God almighty, does he have to say it so _loudly _in a room full of other _people_? "Please father, could you save talking about this for a more…" It really is rather funny how moments of discomfort make you feel as if everyone is watching you. "_Private _location?"

He bellows out another round of booming laughter. "My son, you can't keep treating copulation as such taboo! After all, you're nearly a fully mature reaper now!"

Yes. _Copulation_.

Between this current discussion and Liz's early "birthday gift", everyone seems to be incredibly aware of the significance of the sexual behavior of Grim reapers and myself, the entirety of which I have _not _divulged to Emily yet.

Allow me to _fully _explain all the interest.

As I mentioned earlier, the act of sexual intercourse is considered the union of two bodies and two souls. In the case of Grim reapers, it's practically literal. The reason behind all of these things such as "heat fevers" and the like following a reaper's "sexual awakening" has to do with "the gift".

Reapers already possess the ability to calm soul wavelengths in average situations, and in intimacy, the ability to temporarily control them in order to ensure their partner's completion. These are the first two steps towards an entire ability known as "the gift".

When a Grim reaper engages in intercourse with a human, for one brief moment, their souls join. This contact results in a reaper's permanent ability to control their partner's soul wavelengths, no matter the situation or the distance. It is an evolutionary adaptation, as it ensures the safety and protection of a Grim reaper's partner. This ability is completely binding, even if the couple separates.

The need to give "the gift" to a prospective partner is introduced by initial attraction (All the "weird" behavior I exhibited within the first week we met) and increased following the first sexual experience with said partner (Raging libido and protective tendencies). This explains why Grim reapers are so selective in the mating process.

To reapers, intercourse isn't simply a biological reaction; it's a ritual.

And considering Emily's predicament with her soul, she is rightly deserving of such protection. Of course, considering she is Emily Valentine, nobody can really blame me for refraining from indulging her in this little detail.

"Ho, ho, ho! Well you have my luck and support! Be good to her!"

As my father goes about ruffling my hair, "Orpheus In the Underworld" comes to a sudden and abrupt stop, half way through the piece mind you.

Why?

It's Emily. She's pulled the conductor aside.

I suppose I can finally release that breath I've been holding for the longest time.

"Please excuse me father, but I have a dance to engage in." I fix my hair back into place, give my father a respectful nod, and begin making my way back into the main ballroom.

Thank goodness because I really did not want to continue that conversation with him any longer.

Pardoning myself past crowds of people, I call out her name. "Emily!"

Well that's odd. She _should _be able to hear me from this distance.

"KID!"

Of course, I am more than discontent regarding someone other than Emily calling my name. Anyways, the source of the shout is coming from my left. It's Liz, followed closely by Maka and Soul, pushing their way past bodies and spilling a goblet or two of sparkling cider.

They all look rather worried, particularly Maka, who appears all sorts of pale. But I _really _have somewhere to be at the moment.

Upon finally shoving her way past the last line of people that separates us, Liz clasps a hand on to my shoulder, panting as if she's run a mile or so. "Kid, we've been looking _everywhere _for you. Do you know where Emily is?"

"Sorry to inconvenience you, I was having a quick chat with my father about, well, important business. And Emily is over there," I nod my head past the crowd towards the burst of gold and red by the orchestra. "But if you don't mind I have to be on my way. I would _really _like to have one final dance with my date."

Before I can take another step towards my destination, Maka grabs at my arm. "Wait Kid! Something's gone wron-"

"Well then could you three please take care of it?" I look back over to Emily with urgency. At this rate I'm going to be in for another of her infamous "Bullshit" rants, which will be just the _perfect _lead in to say "I love you".

Liz takes an iron clasp hold of my other arm. "Fuck, will you just listen up?"

Maka's eyes fill with what appears to be razor sharp anxiety. "You need to get Emily and come with us _right _now!" She pulls at my arm. "We'll explain later! We can't cause a panic in front of all these people!"

Emily is going to think I've stood her up! Then where will all the use I put into mentally preparing myself for the perfect love confession go? "Whatever it is, I'm sure you don't need me or Emily to fix it." I tug my arms back out of their respective holds, finally able to excuse my way through the crowd again.

But of course, the three of them are hot in pursuit.

"Look man, we've got some party crashers! And you're not going to like who they are." I slip past Soul's attempt to grab my waistcoat.

"There is not even fifteen minutes left of this party, so does it really matter if some thugs are trying to take advantage of free food? Please, just allow me to end this night perfectly." I mumble out an apology for stepping on someone's foot.

"Kid wait!"

"Get back here!"

"Will you get your head out of your bratty ass for two seconds and _listen _to us?"

Just as I breach past the final line of bodies to the dance floor, the orchestra starts up again, this time playing a rendition of Odile's entrance.

And there's Emily, in first position, planning to dance without me.

"Emily!" She's even _ignoring_ me.

However, something feels off.

To my right there's a murmur of complaints as Liz, Maka, and Soul push their way to my side.

Maka doesn't appear just pale anymore. No, as she watches Emily begin to dance, she looks _horrified_. "_Soul…_"

Soul, and rather _rudely _may I add, yanks at my sleeve. "Kid, how long did you leave Emily alone for?"

Clearly long enough to piss her off. "Only approximately seven minutes, though eight would have been preferre-" God be damned, who knew Emily could dance like _that_? It's as if she's on puppet strings, defying all type of gravity that's causing the crowd to gasp and applaud around me.

It's rather troubling to watch for some reason.

"Liz, go get Lord Death right now!" As Maka says this, Liz begins pushing her way back through the crowd. Why are they so quick to get my father involved? What in Death's name is going on?

"Alright, I demand to know _exactly _what all this uproar is about right now, even if it is Black Star's fault!" Emily spins about the dance floor, her dress billowing about her legs, giving the slightest peek of her inner thigh.

Her glare fixated upon _me_; a glare that sends my blood running in all the _wrong _directions.

I turn back to Maka, and I have absolutely never seen her look so _panicked _before. "They're _here _Kid! Emily and Lucy are-"

Whatever she just said is cut off as _another _hand takes me by the wrist, yanking me onto the dance floor so quickly my balance is compromised.

Emily stoops down on one leg before me, taking my hand to stand me upright, all the while watching my every move from under half lidded eyes.

Her name tries to find its way out of my throat, but she's back to daunting flaps of the arms and hypnotic pirouettes before I can form vowels.

Something about this doesn't _feel _right. She's dancing around me so _seductively_ and with such _freedom_. There's no resemblance of the hard focus and precision her dancing invoked in the DWMA studio.

For all I can tell, it's as if I'm watching another person.

It _feels _as she's another person.

"Em-Emily?"

An eerie grin is her only response.

No part of me moves. Not a muscle twitches, not a breath exhales, not an eye blinks. All there seems to be is the deafening sound of my heart beating in my ears.

And the look in Emily's eyes, it's something _animalistic _and _chaotic_.

It's a look that desires to laugh in the face of destruction.

But there's an added redness to her eyes of irritation, as if she hadn't blinked for minutes on end.

My breath snags in my lungs as she pushes herself up against me, breasts heavy and lips coasting the side of my neck, twitching as if eager to _bite _into my flesh.

This body in my arms, it's a vessel of deceit. Emily isn't here.

Past the up do of red hair at my shoulder, Soul and Maka are watching with eyes wide and fists clenched tight.

Maka's lips move to mouth the words: Not. Em. Il. Y.

No. No. "You're not Emily."

The tip of a tongue traces the shell of my ear. "And if you don't come with me after this dance is over, I'll make sure there's nothing left of her that even the flies can pick at."

That voice, under the guise of the familiar tone I have come to adore, it's shriveled and cold, childish and more akin to speaking _backwards_.

With a tug of my earlobe between her teeth, she pushes away, hypnotizing the audience in a burst of spins towards the big finish.

Looking back towards Maka and Soul I mouth the words I cannot risk saying aloud: Go. Now.

They hesitate until the orchestra reaches the song's end, then begin slipping through the crowd all the while looking back over their shoulders towards me, the soldier they're leaving behind.

Because I promised to protect her, even from herself.

An arm locks around my waist, forcing me to walk in time with its owner.

"Oh my dear little reaper boy, I believe it's finally time for you and I to sit down and have ourselves a little _talk_."

* * *

><p><strong>Kenji<strong>

There's a saying that goes something like, "A friend will help carry you through the tough times, but a best friend will help you carry a body".

"Ah shit! Dammit Ken, hold her legs! She nearly burned my eyebrow off!"

I hope this is as close to true Thurston and I ever get to that statement.

"Over here guys! Bring her over here!" Patti waves us forward from the pool's gates, her eyes big and wide as she looks out for other people.

Considering Lucy's current position right now, laughing hysterically all the while trying to change into her weapon form (which means she's sprouting fire from those tiny hands of hers), she should be nowhere near large crowds.

Also it's hard trying to keep a blow torch weapon from setting fire to the buffet table when she's consumed with _madness_. At least people will assume she's been drinking spiked punch instead of trying to commit arson.

This is why the best place for her to be right now is by a pool, filled with _water_, because burning one place down is more than enough.

While it's not as if she isn't somewhat _dangerous _for the three of us to be around right now, aside from the deranged laughter and flame throwing, she _could _be worse.

I retighten my hold of her legs, careful not to stumble since I _am_ walking backwards.

Thurston, who's holding her up from under her arms, curses again as Lucy's flailing hand begins sprouting little flames from the fingertips.

You know, if this were happening to any other person but his weapon, Thurston would be on a roll with the _Weekend at Bernie's _references this situation calls for. But the sheer look on his face as he pushed his way through the crowd to me and Liz (Who had _just _invited me to go upstairs with her, but "bros before hoes" I guess) with Lucy flung over his shoulder was pretty assuring that he wasn't going to crack jokes about any of the terrible movies he likes.

I still had to ask Thurston if Lucy wasn't just laughing like a madman because he told that joke about the three midgets and the paraplegic.

When he said, "Fucking no man, just help me!" three thoughts crossed my mind: "Help out your best friend", "Emily", and "Send Liz off to go find Kid because there's no way you can deal with whatever Emily's turned into".

Yes, as pathetic as it sounds, and I completely deserve all the shit I get for this, I'm afraid of Emily in that kind of a state. If you think I can be any help to her after I passed out that day in Professor Stein's lab, well, sorry to disappoint you.

It's just another part of my cousin I can't keep up with.

"Hurry guys! Hurry!" Patti holds the pool's gate open for us to walk through, all the while still looking around for people who could get in the way.

"Alright, Ken, help me get her in the water!"

Our plan? Put Lucy neck deep in the pool so she doesn't set anything on fire. Of course it was Thurston's idea, but what else are we going to do?

Another pair of shoes ruined. So far I've had pairs of shoes stolen in Detroit, had them puked on at a Dillinger Escape Plan concert, and now these pair are water damaged from helping Thurston get his weapon into Death the Kid's outdoor pool.

I should lay off buying two hundred dollar shoes, even if they are limited edition or _Back to the Future_ inspired.

"LOOK OUT!"

Pool water splashes all the way up the front of my pants as Patti pushes us into the concrete. The side of my face hits the pavement so hard I'm seeing double with my glasses still on.

"Man, what's the big i-!"

And out of nowhere the sound of a bullet piercing through the pool's surface reaches my ears. As I hold my breath in my throat, there's another sound; a familiar _cackling _that doesn't belong to the still hysterical Lucy Wallace.

"Long time no see you three. Can't say Lucy looks any better than the last time I saw her though. Less blood, but you get the idea."

I look up from the speckled concrete, my glasses sliding down my nose as I turn to the source of _that _voice. On the opposite end of the pool, and about fifteen feet up in the _air_ on what look like elastic spider _legs _bursting out of his _back_, is Cain Iscariot, his right arm already transformed into the sniper rifle Emily should never have touched.

Three feet away Thurston's dragging Lucy by the armpits to sit up against the pool's gated fence, fires still burning away on her finger tips and laughing so hard it's possible she'll crack a rib.

Blood pounds in my ears as I get up onto my knees. "Patti, go find Liz and _get_ help."

A look of determination crosses Patti's face. "Roger!" She gives a mock salute before racing back to the main house, for what I _hope _is actual help and not extra food.

Thirty feet away, and now eight, seven, six feet off the ground, Cain lowers his arm. "And you Kenji! It doesn't look like much has changed about you either. Still trying to be the responsible one, right?"

My right arm grows hot as the familiar sensation of a transformation travels from my fingers to my elbow, an axe blade replacing what was my forearm. "You're making a really big mistake letting me see your face again!"

The spider legs recede into his back when his feet finally touch the pavement. "What and you think you're going to fight me off with your stupid arm-blade?" The way he laughs, like a deranged movie sociopath, man it just makes my blood _boil_. "Don't even pretend you're on any kind of level with an autonomous weapon like me. Now that I mention how insignificant you are, where _is _Emily?"

All the things he did to her. All the nights his memory kept her up holding back tears, too guilt ridden to sleep again.

When fathers warn their daughters about _that _kind of boy, they're talking about the likes of Cain Iscariot.

Beneath all the fear flashing through my mind, I just really want to cut off each and every one of his limbs.

He smirks. "She's always making you insignificant, isn't she? Weapons are useless without anyone to wield them, but with you and Emily it's always been more than th-"

"_You_. _You_ tried to murder my weapon," I have to look away to prove to myself that those words actually _did _come out of Thurston's mouth. He stands up, Lucy in his arms, with a face that could freeze salt water. "You're not leaving here until you pay for what you've done!"

Cain grins like he's eaten a mouth full of shit. "Yeah, real sorry about all the misery and heartbreak I caused you. I honestly didn't intend to put her into a month long sleep, just injure her to the point she'd never be able to resist!"

And Thurston starts _smiling_.

"Let's do this shit Lucy."

No. He's not actually going to-? "THURSTON NO!"

Lucy's laughing echoes as she's consumed piece by piece in bright blue light. Where her human form was just draped over Thurston's right arm is a familiar glossy grey sheen encircling his forearm, already spitting fire.

And Lucy's hysterical laughter is finally _silent_, because a transformation was all the madness wanted.

"Hit the deck Ken!" I just barely roll out of the way as Thurston aims a stream of fire towards Cain, who flies back up into the air with the help of those grotesque spider legs. And from fifteen feet off the ground Cain aims the barrel of the gun over my head.

I move so quickly I even beat the sound of the trigger being pulled. "THURSTON!"

But as the bullet ricochets off my blade-and man that's going to leave a dent-Thurston isn't behind me anymore.

No.

Actually, he's just pole vaulted over the _pool_.

From out of the flames, a thick black rope juts out and into the water, sending Thurston flying towards Cain in a battle cry.

So much for me being of any _use_ right now.

Cain whips out of Thurston's way, just narrowly escaping a jet stream of fire and smoke. And these fires Lucy's producing, they're like nothing I've ever seen before. The flames her weapon form usually produces have a soft and fluffy shape to them, like clouds. Overhead, the fire is sharp and jagged, like construction paper cut outs, giving off a smoggy grey smoke that smells as bad as it tastes in my mouth.

Another insect leg emerges from the flames, swinging Thurston around the circumference of the pool in an inferno. "I'll burn the skin off your _fucking_ face for what you did!"

More bullets fly past, the black legs jerking Thurston out of the direction of each one.

There aren't a lot of ways for either of them to block the other's attacks. They're set on making sure each bullet and burst of flame counts.

It's one false move away from a winner.

But keep in mind that Thurston's wielding a fire based weapon over a thirty foot pool. If he loses balance on those things he's going straight into the water, where fire attacks stop working, even if the fire is based off of soul wavelengths.

Even I can't slice through smoke or diamond.

So if Thurston screws up his sense of gravity he's as good as _dead_.

Also these decks chairs aren't the best shields against soul wavelength ammunition either.

"Get back here!" Thurston howls with another blast of fire, the stream twisting and turning towards its target, who escapes within a foot of the flame.

Cain fires off another three bullets in succession, all of them dodged. "I'm impressed. Maybe wasting an injection on Lucy wasn't actually a waste at all!" He cocks the barrel of his rifle. "She'd be exceptional if only she had a different meister."

Fifteen feet in the air they're like two cowboy sheriffs facing off at sunset, Thurston ready to spray out another attack as he takes aim.

Cain's laughing momentarily drowns out the sound of the orchestra playing a piece out of _Swan Lake_.

"Give it up Palmer! Your weapon won't kill one who shares the same blood! It's usele-"

There's a flash of flame across the sky, and suddenly the hem of Cain's pant legs is on _fire_. He shouts as it climbs up his leg, his balance on those thick black legs compromised as he beats the flames out.

For once Cain isn't grinning. He's _shocked_.

And the sound of a trigger being pulled adds onto the background noise.

Blood is oozing out of Thurston's cheek, the shock of the bullet grazing his face enough to tear his skin apart sending him off balance and into a pile of deck chairs.

"You wanna start drawing _blood _then Palmer? I'll give you enough blood to dye this entire fucking city _crimson_."

Shit, I can't run in these goddamn soggy shoes!

"Thurston!" There's a slight stirring in response from under the wreckage of deck chairs, and I can't pull all the broken pieces out of the way fast enough.

"Hey Kenji," I look up, and from fifteen feet above all I can see is the barrel of a rifle aimed at my skull. "I'll be sure to tell Emily your last words, how about that?"

For a second all I hear is the click of a trigger and the sound of a gun shot.

And I'm thinking if my brain matter will clog the pool's drain when this bullet takes out a big chunk of my head.

"FUCK!"

No pain. No brain matter. I'm all in one piece.

It's Cain who's screaming in pain, blood dripping down into the pool from a mess of torn flesh and muscle that _was _a kneecap.

"You even _finish _taking aim at my man and the next bullet takes out your balls!" Liz, standing wide legged at the gate, tightens her grip on her sister's weapon form. "And we don't miss!"

I have a gut feeling Liz is going to use saving my ass to her full advantage.

She _really _wants to see that new Sarah Jessica Parker movie too.

The legs coming out of Cain's back wobble dangerously from the impact. "Ha. Well consider this your lucky day," He says breathlessly, his voice biting back pain as his black eyes narrow in my direction. "It's been fun, but I'm receiving word from my higher ups that we've accomplished what we came here for."

The flash of blue light in the corner of my eye collects into Lucy's human form. From under the pile of broken deck chairs Thurston is groaning.

Cain's blood is still dripping into the pool like a leaky sink.

Kid's probably not going to be happy with this mess if Emily hasn't made a mess out of him already.

"Next time don't expect me to hold back." The spider legs, regaining balance despite Cain's gunshot wound through the knee, begin a slow and steady retreat out of the pool. Each and every step of those legs results in a groan, which becomes quieter and quieter the farther away her gets.

From by the gate, Liz says, "I've still got a good shot."

"No, don't shoot," My right arm surges with a cooling heat in a flash of violet light, my hand and fingers flesh and blood again. "Ah," Awesome, the dent Cain's bullet made in my blade actually took a quarter sized piece of flesh out of my palm. There's no time to get this wrapped, even though it's oozing with blood.

Liz looks frustrated as she lowers Patti down, an expression that quickly changes to worry as she notices the blood all over my hand. "Shit! Are you okay? What the hell happened?" She says, running over puddles of spilt pool water and broken parts of deck chairs. I wince as she takes a hold of my palm, her face growing paler the longer and longer she looks at the gaping wound.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Help Thurston and Lucy out," I pull my hand out of her grasp, wincing as I fist it into my jacket. "It's really not as bad as it looks."

From the corner of my eye, Lucy sits up, rubbing the side of her head with her knuckles. "Don't worry about me! I'm quite alright!" Oh thank God, Lucy's actually speaking _coherently_. "Oh wow! Do you suppose all this blood will stain?" Yup, she's perfectly fine.

Thurston groans as Liz helps him stand up, his hand holding his cheek, blood seeping from between his fingers. "Dude, there's no way I can return this tux like _this_."

My hand throbs as I stand back up. "Guys, come on, we need to go find the others." From the feel of it, my palm's going to need _serious _stitches, and most likely from Professor _Stein_.

As I look over at Liz, whatever color she still had in her face after taking a good look at my hand, well, it's gone now. "Kenji, I _saw _Emily. Kid's with her and oh my God he's in so much trouble-"

Just the thought of Emily alone was enough to drain the blood right out of her face.

Forget the state of Kid's pool, if we're lucky he'll still be in one piece.

Shit, Aunt Jo and Uncle Charlie will _murder _me if Emily did something _unthinkable_.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

"What have you done with her?"

This doppelganger of sorts, her eyes leering at me from over her shoulder as I follow her down the hall, she's taken Emily. She's taken her somewhere so deep and dark that I can't feel a trace of the girl I love. "Oh, she's enjoying a _really _well deserved break from being herself," She replies, her voice a perverted dissonance that wreaks havoc on my senses. "But if it makes you feel better, she can see and hear _everything_," At this she grins with those lips that don't belong to her. "Can't exactly _feel _much though."

My fists tighten at my sides, rage ascending up the length of my spine. I follow closely behind as she makes a left, the bathroom door she must have slithered out of two rooms down.

"You're also aware where your friends are, aren't you?" The words slide coldly from my mouth. Those party crashers, the sly enemies we have been chasing like ghosts for the past few weeks, they've ambushed us.

What's worse is _no one _could have predicted this to be their next move.

She stops at the bathroom door with a smirk tugging along the left side of her mouth, fingers dancing about the door knob I can spend a substantial twenty minutes polishing. "Cain's got your weapons and Emily's-or rather _my_ friends-enjoying some time by the pool, Giriko is keeping Soul and Maka quite busy _renovating _your library, and as for Noah and Justin?" She holds the door open, her other hand motioning for me to enter the room. "Let's just say Black Star and Tsubaki are going to find BREW _long gone_."

I stand frozen as a breath hitches in my throat.

From above, the bathroom light flickers.

By the sink I notice Emily's purse, its contents spilt in a manner suggesting _abruptness_.

"They've taken B-ARGH!"

A solid kick to my back throws me into the towel rack, successfully voiding my lungs of air on an impact so hard the wall's plaster cracks behind me.

With my head spinning and my vision two fold I distinguish _two _different figures standing over me. One is clearly the physical appearance of Emily Valentine, her mouth smirking in the likes of madness.

The other figure stands shorter, leg kicked out and laughing with amusement; the one member of Noah's militia unmentioned.

I stand up, clutching the side of my head that hit solid wall as I blink away the dizziness.

"Kid, allow me to introduce you to Gopher, Noah's longest follower and right hand man," The doppelganger moves across the room, situating herself on the edge of the bath tub. "Gopher, darling, this is Death the Kid, Lord Death's brat and Emily's new _squeeze_."

This stout effeminate man, he has a look in his eyes not unlike a rabid dog, smiling maniacally and clearly proud of himself. "I will give it to you _Death the Kid_, you are better looking than Cain."

She crosses her legs, pulling up the skirt of Emily's dress and baring calves and thighs. "Now, seeing as it's only Kid's sixteenth birthday for the next ten minutes, I think it's about time he _proves _himself a man," And she pushes her chest out, her cackling eyes half lidded as they look from me to Gopher. "Now I want this fight to be _man to man_. That means no Grim reaper antics or any of those weird Grigori soul abilities, just like Noah said. Just fists and brute physical strength."

For me, I have no way out of this.

She wants to make me a spectacle, and it's just to torture Emily buried inside all of that madness. It's sickening.

"Easy. If I'm fighting to make Noah-sama proud of me then there's no way I'll lose to you _brat_!" Gopher's face physically lights up, clearly focused upon the thought of his leader. How disgraceful. This man's perverted faithfulness makes cults appear civilized.

Not to mention his hair cut is _asymmetrical_! _This disgusting excuse for living flesh will be __**annihilated**__!_

"Oh, and Kid?" She looks towards me, propping her head up in her palm, eyes dark and sinister like a snake's. "By the way Emily's screaming at me, you'll break her little heart if your blood spills."

It's truly disgusting.

"Now _fight_."

While I do not intend to come off as _cocky_, I will pride myself on being particularly skilled in the area of martial arts.

Just ask Black Star. He'll most likely punch you in the face for mentioning the two times I've outperformed him in physical combat, but still.

Gopher sprints towards me, his fist pulled back and ready to swing, charging forward like a bull ready to gore the fighter.

From the other side of the room, the doppelganger sits and howls with amusement.

I duck under Gopher's punch, side stepping with a swing of my leg intent on knocking his feet out from underneath him. While I cannot say I'm not _entirely _surprised he is able to avoid my blow to the backs of his knees, considering he has quite an aggressive infection of madness and an alleged _Grigori _soul, his small physical appearance suggests otherwise.

He attempts to land an uppercut in my stomach, providing me with the opportunity to seize him by the wrist and throw him.

Yet he's quick on his feet, regaining balance before his back makes contact with any plaster. "I won't go down so easy with Noah-sama's faith in me!"

For Death's sake, he's too irritating for words.

Gopher comes at me once again, this time aiming a kick at my face. I block the blow with a forearm, pulling back a fist that successfully lands against his cheek. While the impact throws him off balance for just a moment, he nonetheless pops back up, his fist just brushing past my chin.

A kick at my chest I side step.

An elbow to the rib he uses as the opportunity to take me into a choke hold.

A choke hold I escape with a stomp on his foot and an uppercut at his jaw.

A howl of pain, a flurry of curses, and a warrior's cry of, "FOR NOAH-SAMA!" as he round house kicks me in the side, subsequently punching me in the throat.

A grunt of pain and annoyance has me rolling up of my sleeves.

"I want to see _blood _you two! BLOOD!"

The foul caterwaul of her voice breeds a new burst of rage within me, a growl rising in the back of my throat.

No more playing around.

Blood pumping.

Heart racing.

Nerves firing.

I sprint towards Gopher with a fresh sense of stamina surging through my veins, this time taking him off guard with a spinning kick to his cranium. And while he's in the midst of shock, I maneuver behind him, taking advantage of a failed attempt to punch me as the chance to land another kick into his back. Said kick throws him towards the toilet in the corner of the room, his body curling inwards with a muffled groan of, "Why you little…!"

To his credit, he still has some fight left in him, grabbing onto the lapels of my jacket and trying to wrestle me to the ground.

_Getting bodily fluids all over my custom tailored Armani suit._

I grab a fistful of his greasy hair. "Let go of me you little twerp! I'll gouge your eyes out for this you low li-!"

The next thing I know I'm in the middle of slamming his face against the toilet bowl rim, the sickening crunch of a broken nose and a howl of pain filling my ears. As I yank him back by the hair, blood is gushing out of his crooked nose and onto the just _polished _floor.

"AH! YOU LITTLE SHIT YOU BROKE MY NOSE! NOAH-SAMA WILL MAKE YOU PAY FOR THIS!"

My grip tightens against his scalp. "I've had enough of your voice."

I ram his head against the toilet seat once more, this time hard enough to knock him into a state of unconsciousness.

From the other side of the room that disgustingly dissonant voice cheers, "We have a winner!" as Gopher crumples to the floor. The sound of her high heels clacking against the floor grows louder and louder until I see a black shoe nudging Gopher's out-cold form. "Good thing too because I personally find him annoying as shit."

There's a shine of blood on the toe of her shoe.

Hot breath blows in my ear and cold finger tips dig into my cheek.

My stomach is churning.

It's repulsive.

But this is _Emily's _body, a defensive shield I simply cannot cut, bruise, or touch. "I don't want to hurt you. Just let Emily come back, please."

A cold finger tip drags along the length of my jaw line until we're face to face once more. "Emily, Emily, _Emily_. You're just hooked around her little finger, aren't you? How adorable, the obsessive-compulsive heir to the title of Lord Death falls head over heels for the sarcastic and troubled successor of Lady Lilith Kiddo's legacy!"

Those eyes, they're a void in reality, filled to the brim with the sole desire to watch the world burn into nothingness. "You don't know anything about us."

At this, she doubles over in laughter. "I don't-Aahaha!...You don't think I know _anything _about you two?" She collects herself, wiping tears of amusement out of the corners of her eyes and slithering a hand down my back. "You see, everything Emily knows, _I know_. Honestly, the things that go through her mind when she thinks of you are probably more intense than your cute head could ever imagine."

In the midst of thought, her nose scrunches up with distaste. "For fuck's sake, the poor girl is so in love with you it's _sickening_!" Her lips brush along my earlobe, the hand at my back fisting my jacket. "But oh, my dear, sweet, little reaper boy, you'll never believe how badly Emily just wants you to _touch _her! She _really _gets off on the thought of your hands all over her, kissing and thrusting with everything you've got. The girl's just too damn proud for her own good, thinking it's so wrong to just get on her knees and _beg _you for it," A finger idly rubs a path up and down my chest. "You want Emily just like that, right? All _needy _and _compliant_, just a shivering mess with a single touch. The smell of sex filling the room and the heat of aroused flesh. _Symmetrical _and yours to take."

In my head a thousand thoughts are crying out all at once: how right she is, how badly the need to regurgitate the contents of my stomach is becoming, how violated Emily must feel underneath all of that madness.

Without warning, I'm violently pushed up against the wall, so hard that the plaster cracks into the ceiling.

There's a _squelching _sound.

I look down past her neck, down her back, and her flesh is _bubbling_.

_No_. _It can't be._

It's…it's...

Legs. There are _insect legs _bursting out of her back. Four large black spider legs are growing out of her _flesh_.

"You see _Kid_, Emily and I, we're two halves of a package deal. Again, everything she knows _I know_," She slowly rises up, inch by agonizing inch until she's looking down at me a foot off the floor. "Sadly, the only reason I'm speaking to you right now is because she just can't accept that I'm a whole other side of herself she's been ignoring."

What has this thing done to you Emily?

How much has this creature pained you?

At my sides, my fists tighten as a newfound sense of disgust overwhelms me. "How _dare _you speak of yourself as her equal!" I spit out in a voice exuding antipathy, "You are nothing but a _parasite_, a split personality; nothing but a hollow presence!"

Those cold, false hands reach down to cup my face, her mouth upturned in a snicker.

Like a pitiful, dumb fly, I am caught in her web.

"Me? A split personality? Hollow?" Her laughter grows into a proud cackle. "You've got it _all wrong_."

Suddenly the room is far colder than it had been moments before.

Those eyes, devoid of any semblance of compassion appear to swirl into a foreboding blackness. "I'm the madness that lives within your precious girlfriend. I'm a new breed of insanity. I originate from the spite of Cain Iscariot. His blood and Emily's flow within the goddess of madness! I can assure you _Death the Kid_, I am in fact quite a living, breathing _thing_."

My heart beat is pulsing hard against my ear drums.

"I'm the goddess of madness! I'm the product of an immaculate conception of _blood_! And I _am Emily Lilith Valentine! _To put it in the simplest of terms darling, I am _omnipotent_."

There is nowhere to place this _thing _amongst the balance of life and death. What stands before me, disguised in the skin of a girl who makes my heart swell with a fleeting touch, is an abomination.

But I can't hurt her.

Her frigid thumbs massage into my cheekbones as she leans into my ear, whispering, "You will be such a useful specimen to me. I can give you perfection as you've never seen it before. With you on my side, I will be invinci-KID! OH GOD! OH GOD!"

It's _her _voice that's crying out.

The body overhead cringes, the cold fingers digging into my face relaxing back to her sides. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

With a cry of agony, followed by the squelching of skin, the spider legs are sucked back into the cavern between her shoulder blades.

She falls into me, Lilith's diadem flying off and onto the floor with a crack as she throws her head back to release a strangled scream.

"GIVE ME BACK MY FUCKING BODY YOU-You have no power here! Let me _devol reve ev'uoy gnihtyreve llik ll'I ro eerf_-NO. MORE."

Emily's hand flies up to her neck, pale fingers tightening into the swell of her throat.

"Emily no!" And the noises she is making in the back of her throat make my legs give out from underneath me. I take a hold of her wrist and yank the strangling hand from her neck. I catch her other hand as it flies up in an effort to repeat the process, the cold, shriveled voice crying out, _"!reverof yawa dekcol em peek t'nac uoY_-I'LL KILL YOU FIRST!"

Emily's voice screams in anguish, as if releasing some dark force from her insides. Her voice dies out, and suddenly her muscles lose tension under her skin as she sinks into my lap.

In my arms, Emily's body (whose it belongs to at this very moment is still very debatable) shivers, hands clenching and unclenching at my shoulders.

In the distance, Lilith's diadem is missing a significant portion of its wreath.

The shivering in my arms finally stills. Her hands cease their movement.

All I can hear is a steady, heavy panting.

My voice shakes, "E-Emily…?" At my sides, my hands move cautiously, silently questioning if I should touch her.

And finally, "Yes Kid…It's…It's me."

Though Emily is initially unresponsive as I gather her tight against my chest, my face burying itself in her soft hair, arms soon wrap themselves around my neck. She lays her head against my chest and inhales a ragged breath of air, whispering, "Oh God. Oh God."

I press a chaste kiss to her temple, holding her tighter as she begins to tremble. "It's alright, you're going to be just fine. I'm not letting you go-"

"KID! ARE YOU IN THERE?" There's a heavy beating on the door.

My head snaps up at the sound of Maka's voice. "Yes! I have Emily! Just don't kick the door do-!"

And they've _kicked _the door down anyways.

Surprisingly, the urge to focus on the complete desecration of symmetry in my bathroom-substantial amounts of blood on the floor, damage to the walls and ceiling, the broken door-is about the furthest thought from my mind.

Maka, carrying Soul in his scythe form, nearly trips over the hem of her emerald green dress, her eyes visibly bulging at the sight before her.

"Emily! Emily are you ok-Holy shit, what happened here?" Kenji is the next to run into the room, stopping at the sight of Gopher, still laying unconscious on the ground in a smear of blood.

At the sound of his voice, Emily tears herself away from me, her legs wobbling as she makes her way over to her weapon. "Kenji, oh my God" The two embrace, a sound like panicked crying muffled between the both of them.

As I watch their reunion, a hand shakes at my shoulder. "Kid! Kid! Say something for crying out loud!"

At my side is Liz, her face red and her eyes watery, Patti's gun form held so tight in her right hand her knuckles are bone white.

"I'm alright Liz, I'm not hurt," Standing up, I nod my head towards Gopher. "He could use some assistance and a pair of handcuffs though."

"Jesus, man! And I thought the pool took a beating!" Thurston wanders into the room, followed closely behind by Lucy, his face smeared with blood and soot.

I'll be sure to question him about the state of my outdoor pool later.

Liz pulls me into a tight hug, Patti's voice ringing with the command of, "Don't cry sis! Kid's okay!"

From over her shoulder, Emily parts from Kenji, her sight focused on the broken diadem at her feet.

She crouches down to the floor, picking both pieces up in her hands. After a moment of studying the fractured crown, her head hangs and I hear her emit a single, defeated word.

"Fuck."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>

Fun fact: This chapter is 10,472 words, a.k.a. 26 pages on Word.

Also wouldn't I be the worst if I just ended the story right here?

But no, I'm too nice to do that.

Also this chapter gives me a lot of _feelings_.

Also I can't write fight scenes.

And I know there are some groans out there because I've introduced some key information about sex and the teenage reaper JUST NOW. PLEASE BEAR WITH ME. I FEEL LIKE AND ASS FOR NOT INTRODUCING THAT INFORMATION EARLIER. When I release this story on AO3, I'll be sure to include it in an earlier chapter.

While we're on that topic, the next chapter WILL have a sex scene. Don't expect it to be smutty and graphic in terms of the physical aspect of it, since the mood and tone of this chapter is prevalent in the next. It will play more into the emotions and feelings of the characters.

Also I want to keep it classy as much as I like to write smut.

If you may have noticed, I HAVE edited the first two chapters of this story. I'm in the process of fixing some grammar, mostly use of tense, and some crap I threw into the story that's just embarrassing to read. I'll be doing this to all the chapters in the coming week.

Also possibly in the coming week, I'm going to release character sheets, or my character designs for Emily, Lucy, Kenji, Thurston, Cain, and Lady Lilith. Knowing myself I'll spend too much time making them look perfect.

**Playlist:**

**Hypomania by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross (From The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo)**

**Stridulum by Zola Jesus**

**A Swan Is Born by Clint Mansell (From Black Swan, originally Op 20, Act III: 18. Scene (Allegro- Allegro Giusto) from Swan Lake)**

**Great Bird of Prey by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross (From The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo)**

**Don't Think by The Chemical Brothers**

**A Thousand Details by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross (From The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo)**

**Non Je Ne Regrette Rien by Edith Piaf**

Also, I'm looking for a BETA reader! If you like this story and you're interested in reading through mountains of crap, leave me a comment.

Alright kids, happy reading! I'm not responsible for any emotional breakdown you may suffer from reading this chapter.

- Nicole


	18. A Deal

"_It doesn't hurt me_  
><em>You wanna feel how it feels?<em>  
><em>You wanna know, know that it doesn't hurt me?<em>  
><em>You wanna hear about the deal I'm making?"<em>

**- Placebo (Covering Kate Bush), "Running Up That Hill"**

* * *

><p><strong>Boston, Massachusetts<strong>

**Eight years ago**

In the expansive living room of an upscale brick townhouse, the furniture, light fixtures, and rugs have all been pushed up against the walls.

Between the sounds of a broomstick swishing through the air and the heavy footfalls against the mahogany floor, huffs of breath and grunts echo off the high ceiling. A young girl, lithe and precise with her movements despite her seven years of age, ducks a punch. Behind said punch is her similarly red headed father, bearded with the familiar five o'clock shadow of parenthood. Despite the serioussness both took in their spars, the father never let an offensive move come into injury resultant contact with his daughter. But other than that form of restraint, neither showed mercy.

Emily Lilith Valentine sprang back up onto her heels, a smile of enjoyment on her face as she resorts to the move her father, retired veteran meister Charlie Valentine, had taught her last week. While the move appeared simple, it was made up of precise movements and quickness of delivery. So she lurched towards the right, as if ready to strike with all her power.

The fake out came midway through a swing towards his side.

In the split second that followed, she sprang back down and hurled the broomstick in the opposite direction.

Right where the lower leg reflexes lived.

The sound of hollow plastic thudding against a clothed knee was unmistakable.

So was the sound of Charlie hitting the floor.

"I did it! I did it! I got you! Haha!"

No, Charlie hadn't planned on his daughter hitting him with such _raw_ force when she finally _did _land a blow. So she had been studying the body map of pressure and reflex points. His wife Joanna was right; Never underestimate a seven year-old.

Imagine what that move would be like when the blade of an axe was finally entered into the equation?

Charlie stood himself back up from the crumpled mess he'd become on the floor. "Ah, you sure got me good! Good job Em," he said with a deep chuckle. "But if you celebrate after hitting your enemy you'll leave yourself open to an offensive attack, then you'll be as good as done."

His daughter ceased her celebratory dance, the broom stick hanging against her side as she nodded in understanding. "I know Dad! But I finally hit you! And you're old."

Laughing to himself again, especially at that sharp tongue, Charlie leaned forward to muss up Emily's hair. "Well that means you're getting better at measuring your movements. All that ballet training is paying off," he spoke gently in her ear, pulling her into a hug. "Keep this up and you'll make Kenji into a Death Scythe in no time."

While Emily had technically been wielding her cousin Kenji since age three, if that incident in the playground sandbox counted, it was only within the last few months that she had actually started using him in training. The Keechi's had a knack for developing their weapon forms before puberty, where other demon weapons usually began grasping how to control their transformation processes. Kenji was just a year older than herself and had gotten his weapon form down with little to no abnormalities in the transformation process.

For the longest time, Emily had been prepared for the future life she would live, inspired by the stories of her great great grandmother who paved the way for female meisters. But still in the fullness of childhood, the entire situation of demon weapons and meisters was still somewhat beyond her understanding. Most children her age were just coming to understand the rules of addition and subtraction, forget grasping the concept of reaping evil souls.

As Charlie released his daughter from his arms, mentioning how this new accomplishment deserved some ice cream from the fridge, Emily stood still in contemplation.

Upon taking notice that she wasn't making a mad dash for the kitchen, Charlie turned back to see the preoccupied expression dulling her face.

He brought himself onto his knees, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, what's the matter Red?"

At the mention of her father's affectionate nickname, Emily interrupted her deliberations to answer him. "Well…Dad…I was wondering…" Her brow furrowed as she tried to find the best way to convey her thoughts. "Why do we do this?"

Thinking Emily was referring to why they spent so much time sparring in the living room, which her mother had _clearly_ expressed disallowance of, Charlie quickly replied, "So you can build up you skills! You know how your mother always says, 'practice makes perfect,' right?"

Emily shook her head. "No, not that dad. I mean, why do we do…_this_?"

It took a moment and a stroke of his chin stubble to realize what his daughter was _actually_ asking. "Oh, you mean why do meisters and weapons do what they have to do?"

Charlie and Joanna had spent years teaching their only child about the history of Lord Death, the creation of demon weapons, and the meisters who wielded them. But now when he thought of it, neither of them had actually explained to Emily the significance of what meisters and weapons were to the world. Being a parent _did _mean answering question after question, even the ones they weren't sure how to respond to.

Not that he was disappointed Emily didn't ask "normal" kid questions like, "Why is the sky blue?" or "How come I can't eat cookies for dinner?" or even "Why do you and mommy get to stay up late and make loud noises in _your_ room?"

No, he wasn't disappointed at all.

"Okay then. Hang on tight so I can show you something." With a brief nod of his head, Charlie scooped Emily up and onto his shoulders, heading towards the fireplace.

Along the mantel sat all the decorations of Charlie's meister career as well as numerous family photos; his wedding picture, Emily in her first Halloween costume, a family portrait, school pictures, a black and white photo of Lilith, and a picture that Emily had spent many a thought focusing upon.

It was that picture that Charlie picked from the mantel, carefully as to cradle it in his hand like an infant creature.

"See this picture here?" He passed the framed photo up into small hands.

Emily held it tightly, studying the image with careful eyes despite its familiarity. "Yeah, it's us with Lord Death and his son when I was a baby."

There was Charlie Valentine, his arm draped lovingly around his wife's shoulders as she held a red headed infant to her chest. Beside them stood the looming but eccentric Lord Death, a similarly sized child perched on his right shoulder.

And those tiny party hats. Yes, those itty bitty baby party hats.

Death the Kid's first birthday.

Charlie gave a brief glance up towards his daughter. "Meisters, like you and me, and weapons, like Kenji and his dad, work for Lord Death to help him keep the world in balance. But you want to know why, right?"

Emily hummed a "yes".

"Life and death work together in a cycle. People are born, have children of their own, and die.

Without life there can be no death, and without death there can be no life. Lord Death's job is to maintain that process, to keep that cycle going. But even he isn't big enough to make it run all on his own. So he uses meisters and demon weapons to help him protect it. The bad guys whose souls we have to take, they want to interrupt that cycle so they can have power. That would take the world out of balance. And if the world is out of balance, human life is in danger."

Emily nodded and passed the picture back in Charlie waiting hand. He placed the photograph back onto the mantel, his eyes fixated on the image of his infant daughter. "Without the balance of life and death, new people can't be created.

"Life is precious, but so is death," he said. "We reap evil souls to protect the ones we love. I did to make sure that the world would be a safe place for you and your mother to live in. And Lord Death fights for his son."

Feeling the familiar ache of the muscles in his neck straining, Charlie slid Emily off from his shoulders, plopping her back onto solid ground by his hip. Yes, as much as he hated to admit it, that aching in his neck _was _a sign that his little girl was getting bigger, older, and wiser. And when the time came, much sooner than later, being daddy's little girl wouldn't be good enough; she would need to be the world's heroine.

As Charlie placed his hand on Emily's shoulder, he engaged himself in her eyes. They were already aglow with that familiar anticipation to accept the challenges her inevitable maturity would bring. In the blackness of her pupils was the desire to outperform the expectations life would saddle her with; the desire for personal perfection.

The heiress, no, the _reincarnation _of Lady Lilith Kiddo would need to be more than any meister before her. While the world would be at her fingertips, so would all of its pressures, criticisms, and evils.

Charlie prayed each and every night that his little girl would make it all on her own, and most importantly, for herself.

"We do what we do in order to keep the ones that we love safe, even if it means putting ourselves in danger." He smiled lightly, his fingers smoothing down the fullness of her hair as he observed her innocence. Yes, that uncorrupted sense of justice. Nothing tangled, nothing eroded, nothing but straightforward. Good and bad with no grey in between. Just a girl with hopes, dreams, and a legendary face.

Eight years later, when the phone rang in the middle of the night, Charlie knew his little girl's innocence was finally gone. Lord Death's warning call came too late to save her. The other line beeped with the sound of sirens and the loss of SIN. And the cover-up that followed, the trauma that broke his daughter's faith into fragments, how avoidable was it really in a world where madness spreads like a pestilence?

But, for the time being, as Charlie looked at Emily, all he thought of was the best for her; that the words he spoke would never come to be questioned in crisis.

Yes, his little girl was growing up.

It was at this moment Joanna Valentine, returning from a trip to the North End for dinner groceries, walked in the door and cried, "Oh for God's sake-Charlie! This living room is NOT your personal dojo!"

Dinner was put off for another hour until every couch, lamp, side table, and knick knack had been put back into its exact location in the living room.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

As cliche as it is, there's sadly no better way than to describe this scene with oxymorons.

Deafening silence.

Restless stillness.

Sickening relief.

Though only my dress shirt lies neatly folded at my side, it's as if I've been stripped of every last shred of clothing and forced open for the eyes of millions.

In reality, it's just the two of us with this reprehensible quiet filling every corner of my bedroom. The sensation of her fingertips just barely touching my skin communicates better than the loudest of words. Their touch stings almost as badly as the rubbing alcohol seeping into my gaping flesh.

I never wanted her to touch me like this.

My own hands have a strong hold of my knee caps. I internalize every sting that accompanies a dab of rubbing alcohol, holding it tight in my gut and redirecting the clenching of muscle to my hands. How I wish I could just close my eyes and will my mind to believe I am somewhere else, in some alternate timeline where I can just hold Emily. Where I have no responsibilities short of loving her in the most intimate of ways. Where there isn't any trouble to plague us. Where all she does is smile and plant her lips against mine.

Where I don't have to prove anything to anyone.

But every time I close my eyes all that comes to mind is the sight of gangly black legs ripping and tearing past the flesh of her back. All my body wants is to regurgitate every last content of my stomach onto the floor at the thought. Yet how can I be so selfish in my disgust and horror? Emily was the one who had to feel it.

However the last thing she'll ever want from me is my pity.

"I can't believe you didn't notice a huge chunk of ceramic tile lodged in your shoulder," Emily says, with none of her usual biting sarcasm. Instead, her voice is a ghostly echo; a weak imitation of former glory. Her voice is a signal of change; that things will never be the same between the two of us.

It's the tone and pitch of someone who has given up.

Needless to say, it's getting harder to keep myself from vomiting.

Emily's fingers press a little harder into shoulder as she dabs my wound with another rubbing alcohol soaked cotton ball. Minutes before, my flesh was the sheath of a lengthy piece of bathroom tile, most likely originating from the sharp kick into the wall Gopher greeted me with. As Professor Stein and Sid carted the still unconscious aggressor out of the room, the ache of an unwelcome intruder in my shoulder made itself known. It was Emily, still somewhat unsteady on her feet, who took notice that the tear in my suit jacket was leaking blood.

So here we are, surrounded by this foreboding tension and a wastebasket of bloodied cotton balls. Not quite how I imagined a moment of crisis in our relationship.

"Rushes of adrenaline are known to overpower pain receptors." Ointment soaked gauze is applied to my shoulder by stiff fingers. "It would have healed fine by itself. My body _is _able to repair itself in response to trauma that would otherwise send a person to the emergency room."

It's a benefit of being a grim reaper that my body is able to mend any wound within an inhuman amount of time, otherwise I would be as scarred as Professor Stein (Oh the absolute _horror)_. Every bone in my body could be shattered and I'd be able to walk again within an hour. I've walked away from injuries that could kill the average human. As long as my heart is still beating I can regenerate myself.

But this, this might be enough to actually put an end to my life, because every touch of her fingertips makes it quite clear that I'm losing her, that I can't save her.

And if I can't save her, how can I be trusted with the well being of three billion souls?

Emily tears a strip of medical tape. "I'm not going to let you walk around with ceramics sticking out of your back," she responds, her voice still taciturn and her touch still wary.

In silence she continues to tend to my injury.

It's really quite tragic though, isn't it? This night that held so much potential for the both of us has crumbled at our feet. Whether it is salvageable or not is debatable.

And I have never wanted something to be no less than perfect so badly in my life.

I suppose I can finally give this overwhelming feeling that surrounds me a name: heartache. And with this feeling comes the desire to fix what shouldn't be broken.

At my side, Emily collects all the medical supplies back into the first aid kit, seemingly careful to arrange everything in its previous order.

"E-Emily?" Though she doesn't look up it's unlikely she isn't listening. As much as the situation forbids me from asking, it needs to be brought up if there's any hope of recovering what remains of "us".

"How did you...well..how did you come back...?" Dammit, could I ask more vaguely? "Or rather, how did you break free of it?"

Just as I expected; My chest hurts even _more_.

I don't have the gall to look up from my fixed stare at the floor.

There's a rustling next to me, and the sensation of another person sitting by my side makes my skin break out into goosebumps. Well, despite all of the blood that accompanied tonight's events, she still manages to smell good.

"The wavelengths got weaker when the others began to retreat, so there wasn't such a high concentration of madness in the area anymore," she explains lowly, the sound of the tin cover closing over the kit louder than her voice.

This quiet that's overcome us, as if we're two strangers and nothing more, it feels as if there is no hope of a future of "us". In this quiet, no, in this _silence_, I'm not a God of Death or a being born of a human but a mockery of myself. Like everything else, picture frames, candles, the hair on my head, the future of "us" is slipping from my control.

I'm not worth _half _of anyone's expectations, am I?

With stiff arms and posture, Emily slides the first aid kit onto the floor. When she sits back up I catch her eyes. Her irises, only an hour ago gleaming copper with genuine life, have gone dull with seeing too much. The look I receive is not that of an adolescent girl, but a gaze that can be found in the traumatized, the shell shocked, the abused, and the defeated.

And in the coldest voice imaginable, she says, "I could have killed you."

Her stare hardens, so forcefully that the tiny veins in her eyes grow thicker and more pronounced. "Don't you dare sit there and tell yourself it couldn't have happened."

"E-Emily…" But there's absolutely _nothing _to say. Nothing I can say in the least anyways.

She kneads her hands restlessly in her lap. There's no doubt that all she wants to do is reach back and search for any sign that limbs had sprouted from her flesh. Even if she does relent she's not going to find anything; not broken skin, not jutting bone, not a scratch, as if it never happened.

The haunted look on her face is scaring me.

"_Don't leave!" _

"_Please!"_

"_I can't do it on my own!"_

I grab her hands in mine.

There's no resistence, just dead weight.

"Just stop Kid."

In moments such as this, where we find ourselves on the receiving end of what we don't want to acknowledge, the mind kicks the body into a state of physical rejection. It's a last defense, a wall of Jericho to protect us from undergoing grief. The stomach drops, there's a rush of burning adrenaline down the spine, and a panicked horde of last chance thoughts flood the thinking process. Those are the Freudian theory's mental defense mechanisms at work. And like everything that produces that effect in me (odd numbers, off centre what-nots, and general disorganization and incompletion), it needs to be fixed.

I need substance, something of clear and sensible thought.

Only one memory stands out.

A bathroom.

Her wet, naked skin and dripping hair.

The way her face paled as the words spilled from her mouth.

"_Regardless of what happened or what your blood is tainted with, you're still Emily Valentine, and I want to be by your side because I am infatuated with you."_

I said that. I meant every bit of it.

"_No_. I promised to stand by you no matter what. I _never _go back on my word, and what I said then still means just as much, if not more, now." My throat clenches around the words, strangling them into the pathetic string of words I hear instead. "I swear Emily, I swear on my _life_."

To my utter agony, she pulls, no, _yanks_, her hand away. "That won't mean shit if I end up killing you," she firmly responds through clenched teeth.

Before I can splutter out some kind of answer, anything, even nonsensical words, she's off the bed and towering over me. "Don't you remember what Stein said? This…this _thing _inside me will just keep getting stronger until there isn't enough left of me _to come back_." Her voice is growing hoarse, and God I can see the blue and purple of her veins popping against her fists.

"It _says_ things to me. All these _horrible_, fucking _awful _things like it _is _me!" Her eyes trail off, vibrating with something more than anger as she avoids catching me in her sights. "You're not safe anymore Kid. Not from Noah and his God damn cult or me. _Especially _me."

Now, she finally looks at me, her face pale of color and full of dread.

She's…she's saying _good bye_ to me.

And the pathetic scum that I am, sitting here and watching her slowly turn away to leave, I grab a hold of the back of her dress like the desperate child I thought I had left behind.

I really haven't changed in ten years, have I?

"I'm a Grim Reaper. There's no one better suited to stand by your side than myself!"

How many times have I rehearsed these words in my head in self conviction? And yet, they have the absolute opposite effect; that of a lie.

Emily stands motionless besides the heaving of her chest. "And being who you are is _exactly _why you'll get yourself killed! And this world needs _you _more than it needs _me_!"

Wrong.

Because I have no symmetry, external or internal, worthy enough to be of any use to the world. I'm not the future Lord Death humanity wants.

The terrible truth Emily is that I've never had faith in myself. So let me have faith in _you_.

"How can you say that?" I choke out, my grip tightening on her skirt. "You're more than valuable to the world! You're more than valuable to me!"

In the time it took to say those words, the air shifted into something stifling.

Now, the collapse of everything around us has been initiated.

And the last thread of fragility, the one barrier within Emily Valentine seemingly impenetrable, has finally snapped.

Behind every wall we construct around ourselves, as thick as our own mentalities and as strong as our willingness to survive, we are all the same; trying to protect ourselves from what scares us the most. Underneath all the obsession and compulsion for perfection, I am burdened by the fear of my own incompetence. As hard as I try, I will never surpass the expectations I was created for, like some failed lab experiment.

And I foolishly thought Emily untouched by such a similar fear.

But here it is; raw and naked before me, the exact depth of the fear she has fought valiantly to suppress.

We're far more alike than I could have ever conceived.

With an expression like that of a wounded, rabid creature, she places herself directly in my face, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You don't get it, do you? _I _don't get _you_! How can you have so much faith in me? I'm going to get you _killed _Kid! Stop sitting here with this bullshit sentiment and start hating me like you should!"

It's like push pins are being jammed into my chest.

How low am I that all I can do is sit here and take it; with mouth agape as neither God of Death nor human, but as useless as the dirt that created Adam?

All I can do is pathetically slobber out, "Why should I hate you?"

Emily's eyes, as I expect, contort in wet disgust. "Because I let you become the most vulnerable part of me there is!"

Suddenly, my shoulders are in her death grip, hard enough to threaten my arms from their sockets. But no, instead, she violently shakes me. "You piece of shit! You said it yourself! You can die just like everyone else! And you're going to let yourself die for me? Be rational for once and realize that I've gone and done the worst thing possible to you!"

And the unworthy, defective union of God and human I am, I say, "And what's that?"

"I fell in love with you!"

…

I suppose it's like seeing glass shatter. First comes the initial, unprepared shock, subsequently followed by the bout of skepticism that results from watching what once was whole and there now reduced to bits and pieces.

My feelings of disbelief, (and let me reestablish that this _isn't _another one of my bizarrely realistic dreams again), bubble from my chest into a constriction in my throat. "You…_what did you say_?"

There's an immediate drop in Emily's face, from hard belligerence to a firm countenance only betrayed by the redness in her eyes. But underneath, it's quite clear that she _means _it, even if she is probably contemplating whether the words actually came from her mouth. "You heard me."

It's time for a moment of silence between us; to breathe and let the angry tension clear the room before another move can be made. Emily takes the moment to wipe away the tears in her eyes with the back of her hand and myself to feel _that _sensation steadily building up in my abdomen.

Then softly, almost childishly, she asks, "What else do you want me to say?"

For the umpteenth time tonight, there _is _nothing to say. But this time, words would only get in the way.

As useless as I felt moments ago, I feel just as hopeful now as I wrap my hands gently around her wrists.

"Nothing."

I suppose it's gotten to the point that I _am _unable to control myself. But as I tug Emily close to my chest and finally give into the desire to merge our mouths together, I say just fuck it.

Although the urge for something more carnal sits heavy as lead in my mind, this kiss is nothing short of pure and compassionate, like the very first time I felt her lips against mine.

Emily sits herself on my legs, kissing me back just as strongly in compliance.

Just like biting into a summer ripened fruit.

My fingers thread through the back of her head. Strange, every hair on her head is just as perfect and precise as it was hours before.

Her hair still smells of the familiar shampoo she uses. Do girls ever smell bad?

But never mind that, because at the moment she's hot air in my mouth, tongue swiping across my canines, and lips heavy against mine.

…

And it's _gone_.

Emily pulls away, or rather pushes _me_ away. She shakes my grip off her wrists to place her hands on my shoulders.

I think I'd rather her thrash me around for a second time tonight.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry but I _can't_. I just can't risk myself like this…" Gods, Emily's holding back tears again. But she slumps forward to lay her head on my shoulder, feeling like the heavy, dead weight of her hand. "It produces its own soul wavelengths Kid, and they overpower what I can do to mine somehow. It practically _is _soul wavelengths. Anyone around me can trigger it. Certain places can trigger it. Resonating triggers it." She breathes a heavy sigh. "Unless you know some way to keep me from gutting you we're shit out of luck."

Wait.

_Soul wavelengths_.

For the love of…how could I have been so _stupid_?

Oh, yes, that's right: (A) I'm a neurotic mess of a Grim Reaper, and (B) there's no way this won't end with me walking away with just a black eye.

Perhaps I _should _have listened more to my father and his talks.

I grab Emily by the shoulders and thrust her back into an upright position. "Would the answer lie in, perhaps, an outside force? If something, or rather someone, was able to control your soul wavelengths in response to the fantum parasites when you can't?"

"It makes sense," she answers, brows quirked in contemplation and lip snagged between her teeth. And just as quickly, her face returns to its familiar look of criticism. "Now please tell me you weren't just asking for the hell of it."

Well Emily, you did infer that I have a death wish.

Maybe you will end up murdering me after all.

"I know of a way then. However, I highly doubt you'll like it," I say, my insides already tightening up in self defense. "And feel free to assault me if I tell you."

At this, Emily takes my head between her hands, the desperate and angry look in her eyes returning once again. "Kid, whatever it is, an animal sacrifice, some weird medical procedure, eating chick fetuses, I'm not going to be picky at this point."

Just _say _it.

"Have sex with me!"

…

Well _that_ didn't come out in the calm manner I was aiming for.

Anyways, I should be receiving a black eye in _five_, _four_, _three_, _two_, _one_…

…

That's strange, she hasn't hit me yet.

Rather, Emily is completely wide eyed, lips parted in a gape, as if I had just hit _her_.

And she blinks, once, twice, three times. "Oh my God you're serious."

Wait, when have I ever let myself slip into a facetious demeanor? I've little been less than serious about most things-

Yes, getting off topic, right.

"I left out some key information the last time we were, well, _alone _together." Needless to say, I was hoping for a more romantic scenario complete with more confidence. But no, I am in fact stumbling over every word. "There's a reason, maybe not a reason but more of a _driving force_, behind why Grim Reapers, and thus myself, are so, uh…"

"Horny, stalker-ish, insatiable, _persistent_…?"

"Y-yes, I suppose…" My cheeks deepen about several shades down the red spectrum. "We're governed by a biological need to mate to fulfill an act that we simply call 'the gift'. I'm already able to control your wavelengths to an extent because of my biological attraction to you, but The Gift will allow me to have a protective control over your soul wavelengths. Simply put, well maybe not _simply_ but I hope you get the idea, the act of…" I pause to swallow a quickly growing lump in my throat. "…intercourse consists of a momentary union of two souls. When the souls of a human and a God of Death join in such a way, the result is the ability to manipulate the partner's soul wavelengths from any distance against any sort of danger."

Emily eyes me with, well, _that _look again. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you would have thought that I only wanted one thing from you," I sigh, pulling my head away from her hands. "And Emily, if there is one thing I want to do, one thing and one thing only, it's to do right by you, because I love you just as much."

"Then let's do it."

…pause for a moment.

Yes, I think it's been established that this is neither a dream nor a case of faulty hearing on my part.

The softness and warmth of her hands envelop mine, bringing my heart to a pushing limit in my chest. "As ridiculous and against whatever sanity I still have as this is, if it keeps your insides where they belong then there are no other options, are there?"

I…I _really _can't believe it.

Yet there's nothing unrealabout it.

It's too convenient.

"But you need to promise me something."

Of course, there's always a catch to what's too good to be true. And by the look in Emily's eyes, it isn't for the sake of giving herself the upper hand.

So it should be no surprise that her voice sounds so somber.

"If that thing takes over again, and there's no chance I'll be able to come back, I want _you_ to kill me."

And I _wish _I was half the man I'm made out to be. Expected to be. Raised to be.

Trusted to be.

This is Emily's way of pleading with me. This is the only way she'll let me protect her, as long as there's a fool proof plan to keep her fear from spreading into reality.

Kenji could never do it; they're alike in flesh and blood. She can't burden him with a task of such devastating consequences because he would never see it through.

Lucy and Thurston are the same way to her. They would hold onto that last shred of false hope.

There's suffering in Emily's eyes. She wants _me _to be that salvation.

Like everything else, however, both sides need to be in perfect correspondence with each other, even and symmetrical. "As long as you promise we will be in this together."

Emily nods and nothing more.

This is just another expectation I need to rise to. This is just another matter of life and death I am responsible for.

This is just another way of loving her.

With a reassuring squeeze to her hands, because I never go back on my words, I give the answer I never want to see through, "Deal."

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

In the time it takes me to go from point A, Kid's lap, to point B, on my feet with my fingers on my back zipper, I've thought of something my dad told me before I grew into the sarcastic, hard hearted bitch currently speaking.

Which begs the question, "Why the hell are you thinking of your father _now_?"

Because as inappropriate as what's going to happen, it calls for a moment of self reflection through memory.

"_We do what we do in order to keep the ones that we love safe, even if it means putting ourselves in danger."_

And to think I'm still relying on those words after they've gotten me into so much trouble.

The great thing about couture dresses is that they're made to take off for these types of occasions. No, I didn't plan for this to conveniently happen ahead of time.

When the dress falls around my ankles, Kid's eyes grow wide. I can probably leave it all crumpled up on the floor and he won't give a shit. He's actually leaning forward to get a better look at me.

But if I'm going to go through with this, I'm not putting up with any interruptions to clean up a "mess". Not to mention its sacrilege to leave an Alexander McQueen gown heaped on the floor like dirty underwear.

Kid's eyes are on my back while I'm draping the dress over his desk chair, slowly trailing lower and lower to the flare of my hips and, well, my ass.

"It feels like you've never seen a girl's butt before. What, you never took a sneek peek at Liz or Patti?" I say, something like a smirk tugging at my lips.

At the accusation, Kid splutters, "N-no! Well…yes. I-I mean not like this!" God he's so neurotic. But he coughs into his fist, regaining that familiar impeccable composer. "S-sorry. What I meant to say is that you're the first person I've ever done anything of this sort with."

So he waited for the right person?

It would be chivalrous if that person wasn't _me_, wrong in every sense of the word.

I manage a weak smile. Smiling isn't really appropriate considering the atmosphere. This whole situation is pretty sad actually, because it isn't the way it should be.

Kid's hands tentatively fall on my hips as I lower myself back down onto his lap, because as usual, he's afraid of fucking _anything _up.

Correction, we're both afraid of fucking up.

My fingers delicately brush a few wisps of hair out of his eyes. "If I really didn't want to do this we wouldn't have gotten this far you know."

Without a word, Kid reaches behind my head. There's a tug against my roots then my hair is blanketing my shoulders. Between his thumb and index finger, he holds the clip that had been keeping my hair up.

My _symmetrically _styled up-do by the way, which cost the hair dresser a lot of time, patience, and by the extra volume added to my hair, probably a shit ton of hair products. No wonder is was so expensive.

Kid tucks the clip into the pocket of his pants, a far more confident and assured expression filling his face. His face _did _feel pretty hot when my hand brushed against it, and definitely not from embarrassment. "As impeccable as you look with your hair up, truthfully I favor seeing you with your hair down," he croons, his finger twirling at a lock of my hair. "It's also how I always imagined you would look like."

Well _Jesus_. Smooth Talking Kid going in for the kill.

His lips are hot against mine, hungry but not forceful. He knows I'll bite back if he even _tries_ anything cheeky. Not that I mind the way he tugs my bottom lip between his teeth or the way he presses quick, chaste kisses to the corners of my mouth.

Within the course of a month I've learned a very important piece of knowledge; the way someone kisses you is correlative to how they feel about you. While I really don't want to waste anymore time thinking about you-know-who, he kissed crudely and selfishly, intending to manipulate and take away any sense of control I had. He was never honest; always pushing me to fight back and feel suspicious of what was underlying our entire relationship.

Kid, on the other hand, kisses me as his equal. For someone so paranoid about perfection and how the world sees him, he's completely honest this way. He's considerate and chivalrous, despite being such a brat sometimes. Thanks to that (usually) pristine and upheld demeanor of his, he won't let himself go fucking wild with testosterone unless I let him.

Speaking of which…

"O-oh. _Hi_ there Kid…" Bless him; bless him so hard for not rutting into my ass when he's so…_stiff _in the lap.

Am I straddling a stick shift?

While Kid's skin is already pretty hot against mine, it's little compared to how his cheeks flare up in the span of two seconds. He's trying really hard not to look away in embarrassment. "M-my apologies. Are you uncomfortable?"

Me? Uncomfortable? I'm not the one sporting a pretty mean feeling boner here buddy.

"No. I'm fine," I insist, adjusting myself to keep the pressure off the more _sensitive _part of his anatomy. "You can, you know, drop trou' if you want?"

Well, that came out sounding less confidently than I wanted. No one said the moments leading up to losing your virginity were anything more than an awkward mess.

And _I'm_ the one with more experience here. Yeah right.

Kid's Adams Apple bobs in his throat as he mutters something that sounds like, "Sure, certainly," under his breath. I slide off his lap so he can stand up. His hands move steadily to his belt buckle, long fingers expertly unclasping and threading the leather out of his pants loops. Belt in hand, he goes for the steel button and a tug of the zipper.

Plain black boxer briefs, with _quite _the strain against the waistband.

What John Hughes movie will help me best in this situation?

But of course, he's staying calm as he folds his pants and belt over my dress.

No wonder Kid's eyes were so glued to my backside, they're apparently _impossible _not to look at.

When he turns back around, he stands still in place, his hands relaxed as his side to let me look him over.

No wonder he's so damn anal about his hair; it's the only thing keeping him from being a perfectly proportioned DaVinci specimen.

While he's been shirtless for the last half hour, I wasn't exactly focused on ogling his chest. I can fully appreciate it now, all of it. He's toned, more so that I thought he would be under his suit. Like his fingers, his limbs are long, well toned with the outlines of subtle muscle. Not scrawny in the least. When his two inches over me are factored in, it's obvious he's going to go through a massive growth spurt within the year, even though he isn't disproportionate in the least.

I'll avoid going into detail about the crotch area for right now because at the moment he's stalking back towards me.

He threads his fingers through my bangs. But once again, he lets his uncertainty show through. "Uh, well, lie back."

He follows suit as I make my way to the headboard, propping myself up against the decent amount of duck feather pillows he's accumulated.

And my heart is thudding against my chest so hard it's difficult to swallow.

My full range view of the ceiling is obscured by Kid climbing on top of me. Heat is literally _wafting _off of him in knock out waves. But it's a soothing kind of heat, like a hot bath or a laundered comforter.

Safe and protective.

My palm presses flat over his beating heart, the vibrations travelling up my arm and to my chest. If I press too hard I think my hand might melt into his skin.

Kid exhales a breathe he's been holding for God knows how long and leans forward, burying his face in the crook of my neck.

"Oh _Emily_…" he groans softly into my ear, pushing his entire body into mine. That look on his face, it's lost the uncertainty factor. He's running on something else entirely.

As his hands travel down my sides, _dangerously _close to my stomach (I'll regret letting him in on the sensitivity of said area for as long as I live), I take a hold of his shoulders, and is there any part of him that _doesn't _feel like expensive fabric?

Oh…_oh_…

He's _sucking _at my neck; pulling little patches of skin between his teeth to nibble, then nursing away the dull throbbing with his tongue before kissing the spot and moving on down my clavicle.

For God's sake, _who is making that noise?_

Oh. That's me groaning, moaning, or whatever.

Kid's making it build up inside me again, pulling my soul wavelengths taut and slowly releasing them without a satisfying _snap_.

I just can't think right now. It's like being caught in a cloud of smoke. All I have to rely on are sensations and feelings and the heat pooling in my gut.

Kid's slowly slithering down well past my collar bone, leaving a trail of marks that are going to be a real pain in the ass to cover up tomorrow. He looks up, momentarily laving at the skin just above my breasts, his eyes hazy and half lidded.

His fingers pull teasingly at the elastic hem of my bra. By the content hum in the back of his throat, he's just as dazed as I am, high on pheromones and drunk on heat.

Maybe this won't be as awkward as I thought. He _did _compare his nature to incubi. I doubt horny sex demons go through awkward sexual puberty.

"Emily…?"

He doesn't have to ask. It's too _obvious _what he wants.

I sit up off the pillows to let Kid slide his hands to my back.

With every snap of a hook my chest grows heavier.

Kid hums in self approval (five bucks he practiced this on Liz and Patti's bras) and neatly places my bra on the bedside table.

When he returns, our eyes lock in a silent understanding. I have the power here in this room to let him do what he wants or to push him away. And no matter how strong his drive to possess me is, he'll always hold back when our equality falls out of balance.

Kid's eyes sink back down to my bare chest. "They're really quite envious," he says, cupping them lightly in his hands. "There's a shortage of naturally symmetrical breasts in the world."

_Ugh_. Again?

"And please, enlighten me on the exact statistics I _know_ you looked up."

Kid doesn't answer me.

I stifle a moan with my fist as his mouth latches onto my breast, the tip of his tongue pressing flat against my nipple before snagging it between his teeth. It's so fucking sudden my hands fist themselves in his hair.

Thank God Kid isn't rough or greedy. He's passionate, because this is the most prestigious way he can honor me. But it's hard to forget the reason why we're doing this. Maybe that's why it feels kind of sad when we're walking this fine line between love and safety, unsure of what the driving force behind our decision to do this exactly is.

Kid's other hand begins to busy itself with squeezing and tweaking my other breast. _Awkward _my ass.

My legs, unconsciously may I add, fall open, and Kid doesn't look past the opportunity to press himself against the inside of my thigh.

He's still clothed down there and it's _still _hotter than the rest of him.

I pull him by the scalp to my other breast, which he generously suckles into his mouth. His chest heaves against my stomach as he takes a long and deep inhale.

I wish I could be this instinctive; never having to rehearse for false perfection. For all that Kid complains about, he's encoded to be the future Lord Death as a Grim Reaper. While he doesn't have enough faith to believe in his unavoidable success, he can be effortless in his abilities.

He can pull perfection out of his ass without even trying.

That's the one thing standing between me and dancing The Swan.

Even though we're equals here and now with this power, the same won't be true when we wake up tomorrow and go about our ways.

So don't blame me for wanting this type of control.

The burn of heat in my stomach is like a loop of adrenaline, never stopping but growing stronger and stronger with each pulse of repetition.

I push Kid off, which makes him contort his face into a look of brief disappointment; a look that quickly turns into something of lascivious relief as I growl, "My turn."

"For what?"

Stupid boy.

As soon as I have myself in his lap, legs holding his hips in place, I pull him in for a deep kiss, probably hard enough to bruise.

He's hungry, practically starving in my mouth. Our teeth click together, our tongues in any cavern we can find, because this heat is relentless. Just when we think we have what we want, it jerks out of our grasp, resulting in this shameless chase to where we have nowhere else to go but down when we finally achieve it.

He bucks up between my legs, no, more like _writhes_.

I notice for the first time that his pupils are fully dilated, with only the sliver of his gold irises showing.

In my distraction, he finally succeeds in bucking into the place he was aiming for.

And my God I didn't expect it.

"A-ahh, _shit_," he groans, squeezing my hips to grind himself upwards.

My response is to dig my fingernails into his shoulders, hissing from the sudden pressure and stimulation. "H-hey! Asshole!"

"Sorry! Sorry!" Kid yelps, releasing my hips and holding his hand in the air. "I-I really wasn't aiming for that to happen."

I quirk an eyebrow.

But he looks at me with such devotion, such gentility, that I know he's not bullshitting me.

All he wanted to do was hold me.

My tongue flicks the back of a lip ring. "It's fine…come here."

With a humble nod, Kid wraps his arms around my back, a hum escaping his lips as he places his cheek square between my breast. He gently rocks us back and forth, pressing a variety of kisses to the inside of my breast.

He doesn't want me to leave him. I don't want to leave him either.

This feels safe, secure, natural.

And I feel emboldened.

Whilst Kid nuzzles his nose into my other breast, I trail my fingers down his chest, past his belly button, and to the waistband of his briefs.

I shift back on his legs just enough so see what I'm doing. With the tip of my index finger, I idly trace the outline of his cock (God I really wish there was a name for it that didn't sound crude, ridiculous, or juvenile).

Kid shudders, his voice cracking a noise something like a moan and yelp. For a moment he's slack jawed against my breast, panting hot breath against my skin before pulling off to look down at my hand.

"A warning would…would have been appreciated," he says, eyes flickering up at me.

My finger stills. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No, no, no! Not at all!" Kid rests a hand against my neck as if I'm the one who wants to stop. He glances down at my finger, conveniently parked at the tip of his erection. Oh, I'm _teasing _him. No, really, I _didn't _mean to. Not this time at least. "Just…uh…it surprised me."

I really want to take a moment to laugh. When we're actually doing something he's all confidence and just too fucking _good_ to be true. Change of pace and he's back to blushing and stammering. I guess it's a heat of the moment sort of thing.

And God dammit it's really cute.

So I palm his erection, making him shudder. "You weren't going to ask, so…"

Somehow, Kid swallows it all back down. He watches, pretty calmly aside from the heavy breathing, as I press the heel of my hand into the base, letting my hand move in miniscule movements. I just need to get a feel for him, know what I'm working with.

Kid clears his throat for my attention. "I was…well…you never have let anybody give you commands."

I could laugh; he's gotten me figured out so well. Instead, I give the usual roll of the eyes and uneven smirk that makes him wince. "Just relax."

With that, I slip my hand past his waistband.

And he sucks in a breath, trying so hard not to fall in my and let go, if the way his cock twitches in my palm is any indication.

I'll admit, it's actually pretty intimidating. But Kid's sliding his hand in over mine, because he knows this is just as new to me as it is to him. Bless him.

It's like holding fire without being burned. The skin of his shaft is velvet soft and porcelain smooth, and as I stroke upwards, carefully guided by his hand, it's damp with pre-cum.

"Th-there…yeah, like that," he croons as he wraps our hands closed around his shaft, slowly dragging my palm up and down.

It's hard not to be enticed watching myself do something like this. Letting someone put their trust in me like this.

And to feel aroused by giving just as much as receiving.

No one but myself has seen Kid come undone like this-_well_-undone in the sense that blood isn't spurting out of his nose and his eyes are rolling into the back of his head for a reason that has nothing to do with asymmetry. His chest rises and falls with every hiss of breath as he continues to writhe. "I…I always…thought…ung."

"Thought what?" I mutter, our hands picking up their pace from long, slow strokes to smooth glides with the flick of my wrist. You think he'd realize he's past the point of even trying to talk…

"Of you."

I look at him. He's smiling in that overly mature manner, his other hand brushing my arm in reassurance. I know he isn't referring to just touching himself to the thought of me. Of course not. This boy is completely crazy for me. This foolish teenaged God of Death really doesn't care he's making the worst decision of his life dedicating more than fleeting thoughts to me.

Kid's thumb brushes over my knuckles in a type of reassurance, because he knows I don't want to believe him.

He swallows, the hand on my arm dropping to my thigh. "What about y-you?"

I only wish I could lie at this point. "All the time."

Kid's smile grows wider. Just like that he's completely cool and composed again. It's that ego of his without a doubt. His length is still gladly twitching in my hand, but he's steadied his breathing. "I'd like to try something then," he says, because now speech isn't too much of a challenge for him during a hand job as it was a minute earlier.

Also I'm more than a little suspicious at the glint in his eyes

"May I?" His hand slips to the inside my thigh, pushing me open. Close, _really _fucking close, to where I've made a mess of myself already; not that Kid's weird sex wavelength thing isn't a good deal responsible for why I'm never going to be able to wear this pair of underwear again.

So anyways, his fingers are poking at the junctions connecting my crotch to my thigh, lazily dragging his finger up and down like I had earlier. But fucker, he's doing it on purpose.

The hand I have clasped around his length loosens as heat spikes within me. I can't hold onto him anymore, he's cut my puppet strings and I'm boneless and limp.

I let go of a breath I've captured in my lungs. "Sure…y-yeah."

It's like nursing a stinging wound when he slips his own fingers in, not quite knowing what to do besides letting them investigate.

What he finds is heat I've touched in the break of a moment.

The hand that isn't slacking on the job in his briefs holds his wrist steady.

Kid must know there's no way I'm going to be able to focus on helping him out when I'm pretty much curling in on myself from his fingertips.

I slide my own hand down the front of my underwear, pulling his fingers up where I want. "Right…right here," I sigh in content as his tips push down in pressure. "J-just rub."

And he does, his index and middle fingers moving in a clockwise motion.

I have to throw my head back a bit. In response, of course to the nice tit shot the upheaval of my chest gives him, Kid fondles my right breast and starts rolling my nipple in his fingers. He also happens to be smirking with that cocky confidence.

Now I don't know how, but suddenly Kid's become a fast learner. His fore and index fingers switch out with his thumb, without even skipping a beat, to push inside me, practically on instinct.

If _anyone _asks about the noise that just came out of my mouth tomorrow morning I'll pretend they're delusional.

It would be harder for his fingers to wiggle themselves in there if it weren't for how fucking wet I've become. It's a _really _tight fit though.

And even more _pressure._

Kid stills. "Hey…you…you alright?" he questions, his voice as soft as his reassuring touches. His cheeks are still dusted with a blush. The strands of his bangs are sticking wet to his forehead. I'd say he looks boyishly innocent if he didn't have his finger inside me.

Somehow I manage to gulp down a breath. "P-peachy. Just be careful…"

To that, he cocks a brow, a smirk pulling at the side of his mouth. So much for that "boyish innocence", right? "Are you saying you're delicate?"

I'll show you "delicate".

He yelps when I dig my teeth into clavicle. Don't worry, I'll bite the other side too.

And his fingers twitch inside me, rubbing along my walls in synch with the motions of his thumb. It sends a quake down my spine and to my hips and a noticeable intensity of the familiar burn in my gut.

So there's really no way I can think about our circumstances anymore when my body is being put through so much at once.

I'm not ready for it to explode quite yet.

With a mouthful of his unmarked flesh, I groan, "D-don't make me…_shit_…c-cum."

Kid's fingers push in deeper, forcing me to buck into his groin. "W-wasn't planning on it yet."

Better not.

At least make it possible you'll be able to fit your _girth _inside me. Oh, that's right. _Pain._ There's usually pain the first time, blood maybe.

I should loosen up. Be less tense. Calm my shit.

He's trying to scissor his fingers. It's like working out the knots in your back, him prying me apart. Because he doesn't want to hurt me, just like he said. _I _don't want to hurt him.

I give the reddened ring of flesh I've marked a long swipe of my tongue before I placing my forehead against his.

It's obvious that even though he's acting purely on trusted instinct, he's still completely shy about this whole thing. He pecks a quick kiss on my nose as I gasp, because he's pumping his fingers inside me. There's an affectionate hand threading through my hair, touching me like I'm the most precious thing in the world at this moment. And I don't doubt at I am, to him at least.

But he needs to _stop _or I'll go mad.

"O-okay! Enough…" I'd keep him there between my thighs all night if I could. But we're doing this for a _reason_. I pull his hand out with a shutter and moan I didn't feel like suppressing, his finger tips glistening when I glance down.

I don't have to do anything more than slide off his lap for him to get what I mean.

Before Kid can fully place himself over me, and he looked like he was about to speak up, something _important _crosses my mind. "Condom," I blurt out. "You're not getting me pregnant."

He looks left, right, blushes, then scoffs. "R-right.! One moment!"

He rolls off the bed and walks over to his desk chair, where he starts digging into the pocket of his pants.

Lo and behold, he pulls out not one, not two, but a whole fucking _accordion _or condoms.

"Birthday gift from Liz?"

Kid looks off to the side and nods. "Birthday gift from Liz."

Figures.

He walks back, tearing a plastic square off and placing the rest on his bedside table. "There's one more thing you need to know," he says, sitting himself down on the edge of the bed. And that's all he does, sit and stare at the condom square in his palm.

I quirk an eyebrow, but otherwise say nothing.

Kid's fingers curl around the little plastic package. "Once we do this, as long as we both live my bond to you _will _be permanent," he breathes, his voice low and as serious as possible.

Yet here I sit, with this heat in my lower half that's becoming harder and harder to keep from raging out of control between my legs. It's like the day Twiggy's outside connection snuck in the marijuana, how the world felt softer and slower; no longer just cold, jagged angles but smooth corners and warmth.

That's the bliss of ignorance and not caring about the consequences. And yet I've never been so attentive in my life.

As usual, my decision comes down to one thought; _Whatever it takes to protect the ones I love_.

My hand grazes over Kid's thigh, squeezing in assurance. "Fine."

The mental list of things Death the Kid and I have in common currently goes as follows:

1 Fondness of clothes that come in shades of black

2 Food selection at replica fifties diners

3 Famous lineage

4 The stupid desire to fulfill everyone's expectations

And finally, a new similarity to add:

5 Never back down

Fuck, I better not be wrong.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Notes:<strong>

**Two and a half MONTHS. Why the hiatus? I scored a job the last half of the summer, and of course, college. **

**After a lot of consideration, mostly because I knew two months was a ridiculous time to make you guys wait for an update and I'm SO SORRY, I've decided to split this scene into two parts. The final half of this scene will take place in the next chapter also due to the ridiculous length this chapter already is. **

**Music time.**

**This Love by Julia Stone**

**O Children by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds**

**The Last Man by Clint Mansell (From The Fountain)**

**My Love Is Always Here by Alexandre Desplat (From Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1)**

**Running Up That Hill by Placebo**

**Paradise Circus by Massive Attack**

**I'll try to be back on schedule because I refuse to abandon this story. It NEEDS to be finished. **

**Thanks for all your love and reviews!**

**Nicole**


	19. You Are Mine, I Am Yours

"_See her come down, through the clouds  
>I feel like a fool<br>I ain't got nothing left to give  
>Nothing to lose<em>

_So come on Love, draw your swords_  
><em>Shoot me to the ground<em>  
><em>You are mine, I am yours<em>  
><em>Lets not fuck around<em>"

**- Angus & Julia Stone, "Draw Your Swords"**

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, Death the Kid reached the conclusion fairly early on that children were cruel.<p>

He was five years old, clad in brand new, custom tailored school clothes, back pack in hand and more than ready to tackle his first day of kindergarten.

What he didn't expect was for his passion symmetry, a behavior Lord Death had labeled "cute" and otherwise thought normal, to come under fire.

That was also the day Death the Kid not only realized he was far from normal, but people expected him to be nothing more than his father's successor.

The moment Kid realized the cruelty of other children was when he was busy stacking blocks in the corner of the school room. He had a very precise system to building, everything needing to be equal on both sides like his father's school and his house.

It was really nothing more than the usual types of fixations children developed around his age, one that goes away in a year only to become an embarrassing story parents find amusing to tell in front of their child's friends.

That was all Kid's initial fixation on symmetry was, until a rotund boy stomped by and successfully initiated an avalanche of Kid's blocks.

"Hey! You ruined the symmetry!" he cried, scrambling to gather all the fallen blocks to start all over again.

But the pudgy child, with his morning snack still smeared around his mouth, did nothing more than laugh. "Freak!"

Later that day whilst the children were outside, Kid joined a group of children playing in the sandbox. Like the blocks, he quickly went to work building a castle as even and perfect as possible. When a child would pass by to borrow a pail Kid had set aside, he gave them a look that said, "Would you like to play with me?"

Kid had had very little socialization with children his own age until then. While he had no problem playing by himself, many a time he thought of what it would be like have a partner to stack blocks with and pretend with. Technically speaking there was in fact one child he had spent more than once in the company of. Granted, he had been one at the time, but according to the photograph of that particular birthday, he had experienced a pleasant infantile playdate. His companion in the picture, which accompanied a photograph of his parents on his bedside table, was a round cheeked, red haired girl clad in a striped romper dress, tucked in her mother's arms and wearing a party hat that matched the one adorning his head. Kid never did quite remember her name, his Father having said it once and assumed his son would remember. But apparently she was someone important, if the way Lord Death had referred to her as "Lilith's Offspring" was as important as it sounded to the five year old reaper.

Surely Kid had been on kind terms with the cherub faced girl.

But these children, when they saw the pleading look in Kid's eyes, they didn't understand. They snickered and went back to their own play.

Kid didn't see the sense of the children building up their own castles only to knock them down into lumpy sand. In his distraction trying to figure out what was so fun about destroying things, the pail he was holding slipped from his grip and took out a fair chunk of his sand castle.

The symmetry was ruined.

His lip quivered and tears began to well up in his eyes. It had been his best sand castle yet. It had been perfectly even. And he ruined it.

Kid failed to notice that he had begun to berate himself out loud for breaking apart his castle.

The other children, however, did.

Kid only realized he was scolding himself when he heard the other children hooting and hollering.

"He's weird!"

"He's not human!"

And then the worst comment of all; "My mommy said we gotta be nice to him 'cuz he's a reaper. That's why his mommy's dead 'cuz he isn't human."

If Death the Kid ever consulted with a shrink in an effort to explore his extremely obsessive behavior, this would be the moment identified as the shift from simple childhood fixation to mental disorder.

With that, the other children vacated the sandbox, laughing and staring at Kid with critical eyes.

In a weak voice only he could hear, Kid cried, "Don't leave! Please!"

When Lord Death picked his son up from school that afternoon, he noticed a definite change in the boy. He was quiet on the walk back to the manor, whereas he usually spoke a mile a minute about any new knowledge or experience he had gathered in a day to his father.

When the pair finally walked through the double doors of their home, Kid ran straight to his room without so much as a word to his father.

In fact, the only thing Kid had said to Lord Death after being picked was, "I don't like school."

In his room, Kid sat alone in his bed. On the carpeted floor the photograph from his first birthday, the only friend he ever made, laid discarded in heap of broken glass. The fit of anger that resulted in its destruction would erase any conscious recollection Kid would have of the cherub faced girl who had been his first companion. The house keeper of Gallows Manor ended up throwing the mess away, unaware that the photo inside the destroyed frame was still in fine shape.

Without the photographic evidence, Kid would never recall ever having made a friend. And so the memory of the infant Emily Valentine was all but erased from his memory.

Conversely, Kid diligently stared at the older photograph that had sat by the one now broken and lost on the floor.

He had never met his mother, Eileen Bones, but the beauty she radiated in photographic form was familiar all the more. Lord Death told Kid she was in heaven and that she loved him very much.

In the photograph, Eileen sat in Lord Death's throne, a warm smile plastered on her face and Lord Death's hand on her shoulder. Her blonde hair, the fullness of it framing her cheeks, radiated like a halo in the light, beautiful yet foreshadowing at once. It was one of the very few photographs taken of Lord Death in his human form. The only difference between Kid and his father in their appearances was Kid's nose. It was straight, lacking the bump of Lord Death's.

Kid had his mother's nose.

And he killed her.

He was alone and _not _like everyone else. He had his place in the world and they had theirs, and he had foolishly tried to cross into their normalcy.

He was to be his father's successor and nothing more.

If that was so, then he had to be just what everyone wanted him to be, a perfect Grim Reaper. _Symmetrical_.

A stray tear from Kid' eyes plopped onto the picture frame glass. "I can't do it on my own."

That was the first night Kid threw a tantrum about the three half Lines of Sanzu in his hair.

Downstairs, Lord Death was on the phone with Kid's kindergarten teacher. She quietly told him that during the last half of the school day, Kid isolated himself in a corner and refused to participate in anymore activities. Instead, the boy busied himself with reading the same book over, and over, and over again.

Kid refused to go to school the next day, barricading himself in his room and throwing a fit when Lord Death even mention the word "school".

He did the same the next day, and the next day, and the next day.

Lord Death finally settled on hiring a private tutor for his son.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

The strangest thing I've come to acknowledge in this present situation is that my thoughts and actions have split into two.

In the heat of the moment, this innate nature within me woken only recently in my chest drives me without heavy conscious thought.

It's when these moments pass for an awkward pause that I find myself confused with the intense heat and an erection that needs serious attention.

Eventually I'll be able to merge my thoughts and natural instincts. But right now, sitting on the edge of my bed with a condom between my fingers for the first time, I'm awkward and ignorant again.

Emily drags her hand to my hip and silently presses herself against my back. "You want help with that?" she says in a low whisper, more than successful in sending a shiver down my spine.

Yes, this is real.

And we've passed the point of no return.

Maybe the key to letting flawless sexual instinct drive me is simply to _not _think, but do. It's difficult for me to accept, this being a dual deflowering and too fragile not to let logic go to waste.

It just might be the time for me to "go with the flow" or what not. Stop second guessing myself. Emily, as much as I am driven to protect her, is more than capable of being self reliant. I certainly don't want to mess this up nor do I want to hurt her in any way possible.

But again, I'm genetically programmed for this. I have Emily's soul wavelengths, the type that can make her twitch and seize in ecstasy, at my finger tips.

Dammit, just _go _with it.

I hand Emily the condom with a swallow. "I suppose."

I lay down, arms folded behind my head to watch Emily tear the package open. She pulls the latex circle out, making a face as she rubs it between her fingers. "…slippery?"

She shrugs before biting her lip, eyes glancing back up at me with what could almost be identified as nervousness.

Her fingers are hooking the waistband of my briefs.

I don't want to think about whether she's going to size me up to any prior experience.

Why, why am I thinking about that awful guy? He hurt her. That's enough. I've had it. I'm going to stop thinking.

But still, a man's pride in his penis is no laughing ma-

"O-oh!"

Sure enough, there's my member, tall and proud, the head an angry red from everything pent up so long inside me and leaking a droplet or two of semen. And there're my briefs, hanging from Emily's fingers whilst her eyes are trained on me.

"You're…um…" Emily clears her throat, red coloring her cheeks, tongue twisting the metal studs in her lip in contemplation. "…symmetrical."

Secretly, I find nothing more arousing than seeing Emily become all types of flustered. And she complimented my symmetry?

If I were human I'd be spent.

But good things come to those who wait. Patience is a virtue. It will all be worth it in a moment.

I can't help hissing when she rolls the condom on. Those hands of hers, they're simply too well designed for this. The softness of her palms combined with the calloused spots developed from years of wielding Kenji is just too _good_.

But her hands are really not much compared to the rest of her. Everything is just how I imagined. Aside from the fullness and symmetry of her breasts, which I could spend all day focused upon, she's lean with pin-up curves and the long legs to match. I should be used to this type of thing, seeing as Liz and Patti take to walking around the halls in nothing more than a flimsy shirt and underpants. This, however, is completely different. This is Emily, the girl of many a dream and the center of a many a thought.

And she's looking at me with a hint of a smile and entrustment in her eyes.

But as I try to say something, about how much I'd like to see her smile more, a thought crosses my mind without any indication.

_"But oh, my dear, sweet, little reaper boy, you'll never believe how badly Emily just wants you to__touch__her! She__really__gets off on the thought of your hands all over her, kissing and thrusting with everything you've got."_

"Kid, what's wrong?"

Emily's hand caresses my shoulder. She leans over me, the tips of her breasts flush against my chest and brows furrowed with trepidation.

But still my thoughts continue on, drawing me into a state where sounds and sights are muted for this runaway memory.

"_The girl's just too damn proud for her own good, thinking it's so wrong to just get on her knees and__beg__you for it. You want Emily just like that, right?"_

I don't want to think about this. It's making my chest seize and my mouth dry up.

"_All needy and compliant, just a shivering mess with a single touch. The smell of sex filling the room and the heat of aroused flesh. **Symmetrical** and yours to take."_

No, that's the _last_ thing I desire. Emily isn't mine to take. All I want is for her to stay here with me. She never will be an object I can shelf or a creature I can cage. Even with a bond to her soul wavelengths, I can't control her.

Yet I'm supposed to control the circle of life and death.

That's right, is it not?

Then why are we doing this? _Is_ there any point beyond my own selfish desire?

Can I really make people stay with me?

"Hey, you alright?" Emily's hand strokes my cheeks, pulling me out of my incessant thoughts and back into real time. "You looked freaked out for a sec."

A stray lock of her hair falls in my face, tickling my nose. "Fine, I was simply just…" I grimace, a brief surge of guilt welling up inside me. The snugness of the condom isn't making matters any better either.

"Nervous?"

I wait a beat before nodding. Dammit, it sickens me to lie, but what else am I supposed to tell her? All I know is that I cannot bear the thought of her breaking away from me, alone and sacrificing herself for the sake of much pain.

For a moment Emily looks like she doesn't take me at face value. The expression fades soon after it appears, her hand coiling itself into mine, only a trace of it still apparent when she leans over to kiss my forehead.

The scent of her perfume is still oh so strong on her skin.

Emily gives my hand a slight squeeze. "Do you…uh…wanna lead?"

That's right. This is the supposed to happen; the awkward moment before copulation films tend to overlook. The pregnant pause where I realize that yes, I _am _the only Grim Reaper in the room and that in my distraction I've let Emily's soul wavelengths go loose.

The heat flowing through my veins comes back in waves, stronger and stronger with each pulse.

As fervent arousal repossesses my conscious thought, Emily props herself up against my pillows, arms at her sides, breasts and curves tantalizingly voluptuous, and knees just slightly parted.

In my daze, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties.

Something akin to a jolt of electricity runs down my spine as she trains her gaze on me, slowly pulling the garment past the swell of her hips, those soft, pale hips only marked by the slight discoloration of a healed wound on one thigh.

I run my tongue across my teeth.

The wall of reservations, of awkward pauses and uncertainty, finally begins to break apart from the pressure. In its destruction, my newly lascivious mind can no longer interfere with naturally born impulse as it becomes apparent that Emily is simply going _way too slow _for my liking.

An audible breath hitches in Emily throat as I move my hands along hers and _tug_. In compliance, she parts her thighs further so I can slide the garment past her knees, calves, ankles, and finally place them somewhere else on the bed.

The musky smell that has been teasing me in amounts that were never enough all night suddenly floods my senses upon the uncovering of its source.

It's still shadowed and hard to make out as I place my hand on her knee.

Emily smacks her lips. "Don't you dare say anything funny," she mutters, the threat completely empty. Her opposite leg falls from its propped up position, angling out with a slight bend.

I push just slightly against her knee, and like that it's finally revealed.

That mysterious, strange part of the female anatomy that was so wet, so soft to the touch is right _there_. I could never fully visualize it, even with the help of diagrams or the crude pictures I've stumbled upon in Black Star's bedroom. None of those references even come close to capturing what I see, finally in reality.

And I think of the different names it's been given, none of which feel right to call it now: "vagina", "pussy", "cunt", and others derogatory terms.

Instead I think along the lines of "alluring", "provocative", "complex", and "secretive".

I have no idea why Emily would assume I would have anything amusing to say about such a part of her anatomy. Looking at it from this angle it's a quaint sight, likened to staring at Modernist art to decipher the meaning of all the bits and pieces. My hand brushes the inside of her thigh. The muscles are just barely suppressing the urge to tense up. There's something feral pumping inside of me, a high like no other I can think of based on the sights and the smells alone.

Father was absolutely right about the "insatiability" factor…

"Can we speed this along pl-aaaaaaaahhhh."

Really, I would rather not listen to Emily's snarkiness in this particular moment. It's a far different experience watching my fingers poke and prod around the soft, glistening skin. She goes rigid with a breathy gasp as I trail the tip of my finger over a raised bud, the name of which I can't remember at the moment. Is that what makes you shiver with honesty?

Emily, her muscles visibly constricting and relaxing under my touch, looks as if she's just grasped the concept of breathing.

Will I even fit? She is, to my knowledge, a virgin in this sense at least. This might be a problem, especially considering how Liz once mentioned how virgin girls sometimes "bleed a little" their first time. It's bound to hurt, and despite the sensations I can give Emily by manipulating her wavelengths, I have no power over physical pain. Even if it's just for a fraction of a second, I cannot bear the thought of causing her any type of pain.

But can love truly exist without any type of hurt?

"Kid…"

I glance upwards. Despite the aggravated tone of voice, Emily's expression is soft.

"Yes, alright," I assure, bringing myself back up from between her legs to drape myself across her form. My hand trails across her cheek in the gentlest of gestures.

Gods I don't want to cause her any kind of pain.

I take a deep breath as I bring my hand to my shaft to guide myself in place. To think it's this easy to penetrate someone's body, to join two fleshes together as one, to bring a union between souls, if I dwell too long on it I'm sure to bring about a headache.

Emily sighs with a similar inhale, her eyes flickering up at me as she places her arms against my back. As filled to the brim with lust and sexual energy as I am, nothing can help the brief moment of hesitation that runs down my spine. I'm stiff until I notice Emily's fingers kneading soothing circles into my back and her lips flush against my ear.

"Go on."

It's all the encouragement I need.

* * *

><p><strong>Emily<strong>

If you must ask, it's a lot of _pressure._

I can't help but hold my breath as he pushes himself deeper and deeper at this agonizingly slow pace. Closing my eyes helps me concentrate on keeping my lower half relaxed. If I were to clench up, as my reflexes so want to because this feeling is so foreign, God knows if he'd be able to pull himself out.

Kid's back is tense. He's trying so hard not to let himself just force his way through my flesh. Even in this state of arousal I can distinguish the unpleasant from the pleasurable.

And right now my body is trying to stretch to accommodate what's being pushed inside of me. It makes me quake with the release of a breath.

"Are you alright?" Kid's fingers trace my cheek. I've let my face go stiff in concentration. God I probably look so ugly right now…

"Yeah…" I mutter, because I know what's coming.

Deeper, deeper, and deeper until something stretched to the point of straining is forced to make more room. It's like the brief second of burning pain from a paper cut, making me choke on the air I've been holding in my lungs. The sound echoes off the walls and in this moment it's almost too much to handle. It's gone. Gone forever unless I decide to become one of those born again Christians and take some vow of celibacy. Not likely though.

Kid's still both above and inside me, his eyes widening in sudden realization. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He takes my face in his hand and brings our foreheads together. His skin is hot and dewy with sweat, but the contact doesn't burn in the slightest. This is the Kid who was all frayed nerves and stuttering words, because his hand is just slightly shaking against my cheek as if he's suddenly sick with himself. The way he's whispering infinite apologies in my ear and holding me as if I'm made of glass is pretty endearing in an unhealthy kind of way. "Is…is it too much?"

Is it?

Am I or am I not thinking about that one dream I had about what, only a week ago? Where sex was this sinister symbol for how much I want to do good for people, to serve them the way they deserve?

_"__**No one is impervious to the pleasures of the flesh."**_

I'm human too, right?

"No," I breathe, digging my fingers deeper into Kid's naked back. _"__**You really don't recognize yourself anymore." **_"Don't move."

Kid's face scrunches up as he nods.

That flash of pain's become a series of throbbing contractions in my hips. Combined with the pressure, I'm happy to just stay like this for a minute or two like conjoined fetuses or dual parasites.

Parasites.

But Kid isn't a parasite. He's not some unwelcome invader in my body. This _isn't _another nightmarish dream. As intense as the weight of everything leading up to this moment in time, in a reality I've more often than not wished to be the result of some head trauma, I feel this strange sense of satisfaction. I've kept myself so isolated from people these two months because it's the only way I can repent and avoid any further crimes against humanity. I'm martyring myself, as ironic as it sounds considering the enemy, for the sake of protecting people from what I've allowed to slip through my fingers. But humans aren't meant to live alone.

And Kid will never give up on me, even if it means dying. That's why we're doing this; because I want to protect the world? And love? Love too, right?

I'd think about this further, but the pain has diminished enough to get to the actual "sex" part.

"Go ahead."

"What?"

I sigh, my fingers brushing through Kid's bangs, those wonderful lines of Sanzu he hates so fucking much. The hand still on his back slides to the side of his hip, the jutting bone in my palm. Really funny how I didn't notice he's been shivering in restraint this whole time. "I said _go_."

The change is fucking _immediate_.

Forget "on your marks, get set, go". Kid's out of the gate and he's fucking _off._

The first thrust doesn't bring any of the discomfort I expected. No, because he's mastering my soul wavelengths. That heat inside me, the heat that's been simmering on a low burn, it's coming at me in _waves_. My back arches and a gasp escapes my mouth in this knee jerk reaction.

I would close my eyes and let that one thrust lull me off into some distant state of mind, God knows I'll be there eventually, but Kid's eyes are tight on me.

Another thrust; deeper this time and just slightly faster, but definitely hotter. It's too much to keep tabs on the passing of time.

"Emily. Emily. Emily. Emily. _Emily_."

He's saying my name, no, calling my name. And he looks so beautiful like this, all dewy skin and hooded eyes for _me_, who still doesn't deserve it in the least.

There's a coy smirk pulling at his mouth because he _knows _how mastered he is. He's in his zone, doing what comes naturally. Imagine if everything came to us as easily as having sex? Whether you're great at it or a complete mess the first time doesn't matter since you know what to do without even thinking.

I think and therefore I do.

I _over think _everything.

"Emily, oh my Emily."

His pace increases alongside the swell of heat traveling from the bottom of my stomach to my groin. It's like a gallon of water to a seemingly endless thirst. He's kissing me like he has no thoughts in his head.

That's the solution. Don't think until this is over. One thing at a time.

"You're…ah…you're perfect."

No, don't think about how wrong or foolish he is. As long as he believes it there's nothing I can do.

Kid pulls our mouths apart, panting all the while, and moves his hands up to tweak my breasts. Hot, so fucking _hot_ I think I'll melt. And he's getting faster and more precise with every buck of his hips, hitting all the places that are making my limbs quake.

I glance he pulls out, there's a smudge of red at the base of the condom. It's out of sight following another thrust, which makes me twitch, but sure enough it's back again when he pulls out to the tip.

But I can't say anything. Kid has kissed me so senselessly that my tongue is an anchor in my lower jaw. And I can't even dwell on the thought of little flecks of blood spotting the bed sheets, looking ironically similar to connect the dots coloring pages.

"Emily…Is it good?" He breathes in my ear, his hand gently pushing my face in his direction. "Am I…am I making _you _feel good? Tell me."

And here I am; a sprawled out pile of limp limbs, with vines for hair and a heavy tongue in my mouth. I could say I've just come back from Vietnam and no one could tell any better. Then there's Kid, who with all the intense amount of stamina he's putting into cocking his hips back and forth, looks totally in control.

I'm incapable of letting anything out of my mouth besides these throaty groans until he angles himself _just like that_.

"Yes!" My eyes are spinning. Kid makes something between a grunt and a hiss as I claw my hand into the flesh of his ass because I'm desperate to open up and push his entire being inside me. I want my ribs to crack open like a jaw to consume him whole. And I can barely tell what half the words coming out of my mouth are; it's like listening to a tape bleed through the tracks.

But he speaks so clearly in my ear.

"Emily…you're doing so good."

There's something penetrating the inside of my chest. White hot. Bright light. Binding.

This heat is more like a fever. All these different, powerful sensations are spreading through my body, and it's just like hallucinating. His face is the only thing I see clearly, regardless of whether my eyes are open or not. Everything else in my sight is a bleeding mass of colors, like my eyes are running off of ecstasy and motor oil.

Deeper. Further. Harder. Hotter.

"You're almost there…almost there."

There are hungry lips against mine; gentle hands with nimble fingers setting my skin aflame by their touch. My mouth hangs half open, nothing but nonsense babbling and breaths I can't hold on to pouring out. I am strung up by the strings, his every touch and whisper a mastery over me.

But it's because of me. I give that sort of trust to grant me what I want. He's more like me than I am.

I must be repeating his name out loud, since Kid says, "I'm here…and I'll never leave you."

And with that it all slows down.

The things I've wanted to say, everything that was caught in my throat, I have the voice to say them again.

"Please…I…I need you!"

Against a background of white noise, this heat from within swallowing me whole, I implode.

I'm sobbing as he swallows the sharp noises pouring out of my mouth. And both of our bodies are convulsing from these intense currents. This is the union of two souls, about as elite and sacred as the joining of life and knowledge. Nothing can hurt me and I'm incapable of causing others pain. I'm sure of myself. And _she _doesn't exist inside of me.

You hear a lot of things about losing your virginity. Most of them come from shitty teen magazines or fetish porn, neither of which pique my interest, so don't even try. But I'm positive there's nothing out there to put what's flowing through my body into words.

Except maybe the French. How ironic, they call orgasms "little deaths". Really, how much more fitting can you get?

But it's tiring all of my energy, draining it away in what feels like a huge relief. I guess doing this with Kid is like the moments after a grenade goes off, and boy do I know what that feels like. Your head spins until you're so dizzy you can't see straight. Your ears ring with dead sound and your arms and legs are just dangling things of meat and bone.

But I'm smiling. I'm smiling and crying at the same time. The feeling is ebbing away, to both my disappointment and my relief. And Kid's still here, still inside of me, talking softly to me and holding my head straight.

It's funny, even though he's practically a man now, that I can still see the face of the infant in that picture my father kept on our mantel. As my vision starts to fade, there's a look of recognition in his eyes, like he's finally placed his finger on something he thought to have forgotten. God, if only I could move my arm, because I'd stroke his cheek and tell him that it's okay.

We're going to be okay.

Instead, I sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Kid<strong>

"_Take second best__  
>Put me to the test<em>_  
>Things on your chest<em>_  
>You need to confess"<em>

…five more minutes.

_"I will deliver__  
>You know I'm a forgiver"<em>

"Mmmmng," Emily groans, stirring away from snuggling into the crook of my arm to draw the blankets over her head.

Who in the hell is calling…?

_"Reach out and touch faith"_

I wipe the overwhelming grogginess from my face as I hit the button on my iPhone and put it to my ear. "Hello?"

"I really hate to wake you up Kid, but I need you and Emily to come down to the school within an hour." How pleasant, it's Professor Stein, calling at the very inconvenient feeling hour of nine forty two in the morning. Perhaps Soul and Black Star have the right idea sleeping in the middle of lessons, because this is just too much to stay conscious for.

"That is, unless you find the theft of BREW or last night's attack at your party to be unimportant, then by all means go back to sleep."

Damn!

How could I have let all of _that _slip my mind?

Out of the corner of my eyes, Emily's naked back curves with a morning stretch.

Oh. Yes. That's right.

In the rush of last night's memories, my phone begins to fumble out of my grip. "Yes Professor! I mean no Professor. We'll be there as soon as possible!" I leap from the bed and with all the grace of a newborn fawn, trip about the room to get to my closet.

"And Kid?"

I pull a freshly pressed suit off of the rack. "Yes?"

On the other end of the line I hear the tell tale sound of Stein blowing cigarette smoke out of his mouth. "Let Emily know I want to see her specifically."

I'm about to lay into him, considering that the last time he wanted to see her is still quite fresh and bitter in my mind, but he's hung up before I can even think of any response.

"Stein, wasn't it?"

I turn back on my heel, the suit draped over my forearm, and damn, she is simply a different breed of beautiful. Emily seems to have no issue with her semi-nudity, my blankets neatly folded around her waist as she smooths her hair into place.

Which reminds me, I have no underwear on.

"Yes," I say as I make my way over to my bureau for something to cover myself with. All the while I keep sneaking glances at the still very nude girl in my bed. "He wants us at the DWMA sooner than later."

Emily rolls her shoulders with a satisfying sigh. "Don't be so surprised, last night was more of I party than I could handle."

At those words, I turn around to her, still stepping into a pair of boxer briefs. In the pit of my stomach, that infuriating pang of worry begins to reform. What we did last night is something neither of us can take back. What _I _gave to her is something that can never be taken away. If she regrets it…

"Hey, so did it work?"

There's a creak in my spine as I stand up straight. Emily's eyes are wide, her hands rubbing the cold from her upper arms. "Can you amplify my soul wavelengths now?"

Heat pours into my face. Nonetheless, I make my way back over to the edge of the bed. "Well, considering that you passed out as soon as it was over, there's no way it didn't. It requires a lot of energy from humans," I affirm, taking one of her hands in mine. "How do you feel?"

Emily glances down at our laced fingers and begins to knead her thumb into my skin. "Tired, for sure. A little bit sore but an ibuprofen can't fix." When she looks back up at me, there's a smile on her face. That's a relief in more ways than one. Once the possession of lust had passed, and present clarity sank back into my head, I began to worry if I had been too rough with her. But to my relief, no bruises had formed. However, as I had expected, there was a streak of blood between her thighs, (but miraculously none on my bed sheets). As far as I can tell she appears to be just fine. "Can you show me?"

It's an embedded, natural ability by now for me to control the soul wavelengths of another. Still, this will be the first time I have ever attempted it fully on someone I've mated with. I slip my hand from Emily's palm. "Certainly. Close your eyes."

As soon as she does so, I throw myself into a meditative concentration. There it is, the red string tying our two separate souls together. Without a moment of hesitation, I tug it.

The effect is immediate. Emily's eyes shoot open, her body shaking with the surge of energy as her amplified soul wavelengths. It blows the hair from her shoulders as a breathy gasp sounds from her throat.

Fair enough of an example. I release the red string and the environment around us dies down. Emily gives a sigh, one of self assurance and relief. "Well shit man."

What a typical sounding response from her. I certainly can't say I didn't miss it.

"See, it works," I say, leaning in to fix a few strands of stray hair out of her face. "It'll be significantly more powerful if you're in danger or in the middle of a fight, but so long as you-"

Air escapes my lungs as Emily lunges at me, wrapping her arms tight around my back, her breasts soft against my bare chest. She plants her lips against the corner of my mouth, holding me closer and closer.

The open mouthed kiss I receive in suit means more than any "thank you" ever has.

* * *

><p><strong>Unknown location in the southwestern United States<strong>

**5:25 A.M.**

The man known to his followers as Noah sat heavy in the stone chair.

From a barely lit corner of the stone walled room, a brutish voice called, "Boss, she's wide awake."

"Excellent, bring me to her," Noah smirked as he slipped BREW into his pocket. As arose from his throne, he once again noticed the slight limp in Cain's gait.

"Is your leg feeling any better?" he asked as they made their way down a dark corridor.

Cain smirked. "Giriko did a pretty good job fixing the metal joint in. Still a pain in my ass though."

As calm as Cain tried to keep his voice, Noah nonetheless could hear the quake of nerves in his words. Cain's research had proven its reliability in the past, so much so that it was almost gospel truth.

However, the burnt up remains of his pant leg told a completely different story.

It should never have been possible. Two of the same infected blood should never have been able to injure each other. How useful could this little mob thug be if his research was wrong?

Everything had gone just as it should. BREW was in their possession and Gopher followed according to plan. Now the DWMA and Emily Valentine would have no choice but to come after them. And when that happened, they would raise the stakes by taking another bargaining chip, the type that would drive their dear girl right where they want her. But as detailed and precise Cain had been in his collective knowledge of Emily, the sudden fault in his research could become a major problem later on.

The two men made their way down to the basement. The old, ancient jail cells still reeked of the delightful smell of death. Blood still stained the floors where number thirteen, the demon meteor hammer, had been tortured for her insubordination.

As the leader, she suffered the worst out of the twenty five.

Her desire for freedom, her resistance, made her a true martyr. Even when their tortures became even more sadistic, she continued to denounce them. Because she knew her kind was superior. They had no obligation to service their false oppressors. And she continued to cry out against them as they tore limb from limb from her body.

Cain thought thirteen had the right idea.

The basement was dimly lit by red black light. And in its center stood a vast tube, hooked up to a mess of wires and machines. In turn, these machines were all connected to the newly stolen BREW.

From above the tube, the Book of Eibon hung from the ceiling, emitting a holy red light from its open pages.

Inside the tube, a girl floated in the manmade embryonic fluid.

Red hair billowed out around her head like a holy halo. Her eyes, finally open after weeks and weeks of growth, glowed bronze in the room's darkness.

Cain and Noah walked closer to their new, godly entity.

"This is the final step towards creating our perfect world," Noah spoke, tugging the brim of his cap.

Cain pressed his hand against the glass, feeling the vibrations of awoken life course through his arm. "Your time has come."

The girl's mouth twitched into smile as she spoke, "So it has, father." She then placed her own hand against her encasing, matching that of Cain's. "And I look forward to meeting mother face to face very soon."

* * *

><p>Author's Note:<p>

Another two month hiatus courtesy of college, where you write an essay a week and wear flannel.

I will finish this story even if it kills me oh my God.

I have a serious problem where I write stuff that's too long so yeah, I set myself up for disaster on this one.

As of now, I haven't proofread ANY of this because look how long it is. I'll fix it later. Right now, just enjoy about 4,000 words of gratuitous teenage sex. You're welcome.

**Playlist**

**My Sweet Prince by Placebo**

**Draw Your Swords by Angus & Julia Stone**

**Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley**

**I Know Places by Lykke Li**

**Help, I'm Alive by Metric**

Nicole


End file.
